


I was lost, but look what I found

by ManhattanMom



Series: Never Near Enough [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationship, BoFA is canon, But before that - Bofur really goes through hell, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, M/M, secret pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 76,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManhattanMom/pseuds/ManhattanMom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur and Thorin have loved each other for decades, but when Thorin goes mad and dies in the Battle of Five Armies, Bofur is left alone with his grief.</p>
<p>When he decides to finally leave Erebor in the hopes of finding some measure of peace elsewhere, he ends up finding much more than he ever thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...I've read and loved so many great stories about Bofur loving Bilbo but Bilbo loving Thorin instead and it got me wondering - what if you turned that around?
> 
> And 75K words later, here is my answer! I hope you enjoy!! (And if you're interested, Part One of this series is the story of how Bofur and Thorin met).
> 
> The title is taken from a song: I Got Lost in His Arms, from - wait for it - Annie Get Your Gun. I f**king love musicals so much.

_“Why do you stare at me so?”_

_“Does it bother you?”_

_“...come closer and ask that again.”_

 

*

 

The caravan reached Bree just as evening was falling, and Bofur was relieved at the prospect of a real bed after so many days and nights on the road.

The travel back to Ered Luin had been largely uneventful, though it had taken several weeks longer than it had going in the opposite direction. Bofur supposed it was the difference between a company of fifteen and a party numbering more than one hundred; but though the orc and goblin population had been decimated by the Battle of the Five Armies, it was still not safe to travel alone, particularly so far, and this had been the only caravan heading west around the time Bofur had made his decision to leave Erebor.

_“I will never, could never, love another as I love you.”_

The Prancing Pony was familiar to him, uncomfortably so, and when he realized that was where the caravan leader had arranged their accommodations he made inquiries of his own, desperately seeking a room elsewhere.

Unfortunately it was the time of Midsummer Festival, and every other room in every other inn in Bree was taken. It was the Prancing Pony or nothing, and Bofur supposed he was lucky to have any room at all under the circumstances, and a single one at that.

He still debated spending the night outside.

His body, creaking and groaning in a way it had not five years earlier, decided for him. He needed a night or two in a proper bed. He would persevere, forge ahead and survive, as dwarves did.

_Grinning at Thorin, he ran his hand up the other dwarf’s arm and caressed the back of his neck, reveling in the way his lover stretched into his touch and began to almost purr like a fat, satisfied tomcat full of cream._

_“That smile will surely be my undoing,” Thorin murmured at him, leaning in to press their foreheads together, his hand beginning to creep up Bofur’s thigh. “It tends to make me forget myself, forget anything but the taste of your cock on my - “_

_Laughing, Bofur risked a quick glance around their place at the bar._

_“Such language, Majesty!” he’d interrupted teasingly, darting forward to press a kiss to Thorin’s warm lips. “Perhaps you would deign to buy me supper first, before taking advantage of me in such a bold way?”_

_Thorin had thrown his head back and laughed, and Bofur had felt dizzy, absolutely spun ‘round with desire and gratitude...and love._

_He’d leaned in to run his teeth along Thorin’s throat and before he quite realized what was happening he’d been dragged through the tavern, up the stairs, down the hall and into a hastily unlocked room, door slamming behind them._

_And even in the midst of it all - the eager cries, the grasping hands, the hot breath panting and the hard bodies thrusting - Bofur could not resist teasing, “I’m still waiting for that supper, Sire,” feeling enormously proud and exhilarated by Thorin’s deep, glorious laughter._

He stepped into the tavern and slowly moved toward the bar, a place where he had once felt so entirely at ease and comfortable. Indeed, most of his friendships had been forged over ale, and his natural warmth and gregariousness had always served him particularly well in public houses. It had, more than once, been the difference between eating and starving for his family, that ability to charm and find interest in most anyone.

He chose a seat at a small table in the corner, carefully creating a distance between himself and the rest of the patrons. Other members of the caravan trickled in, but most gave him a wide berth, having learned by now that he was spectacularly uninterested in conversation. Those that did not ignore him merely offered him mildly sympathetic looks which Bofur found to be even more distressing than being ignored.

The dwarves who had hoped to get to know him better on a far more intimate level than mere friendship had been swiftly and sharply put to rights. He knew he had become known as the stoically stubborn lover of a mad King, and quite possibly mad himself, but could not bring himself to care. If thinking him mad kept any potential suitors at bay, he welcomed the reputation. It was far preferable to the alternative.

 

*

 

_They had made love that night for a long time, smoothly and slowly and full of passion, pausing in their play at one point to dress quickly in only their trousers and tunics and sneak down into the kitchen like naughty children for more to eat. The discovery of day-old bread, very soft cheese and the remains of a chicken breast drowning in thick gravy had been almost as welcome as the sight of Thorin licking that gravy off his wrist; and Bofur, driven nearly out of his wits by thoughts of Thorin’s tongue elsewhere, had tackled him while the other still held the chicken, pressing him up against the pantry door, desperate to hold him and feel him and taste him._

_His hand had reached down between them to grasp Thorin’s arousal through his trousers, and Thorin had groaned so deeply merely thinking of it now had Bofur so hard it hurt. He had arched up into Bofur's palm, his hand on the back of Bofur’s neck, pulling their foreheads together; nearly growling when Bofur had squeezed firmly and begun to stroke him through the soft, worn fabric. Quick as a wink Thorin had reversed their positions, and Bofur had found himself facing the pantry door, Thorin’s fingers reaching around to untie his trousers and smallclothes and caress Bofur's cock hungrily._

_Pushing back against Thorin, Bofur had let his forehead drop against the door with a sigh, silencing the small voice in his mind that fussed and worried over fucking Thorin in a kitchen, of all places...and the kitchen of an inn at that. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked his head around, only to see a small grey and white striped cat sitting on the countertop, nibbling at the now-forgotten chicken. He had laughed breathlessly as Thorin entered him, filling him so gloriously, his body open and ready after hours together up in their room. Thorin’s hands had firmly grasped Bofur's hips and pulled him back to meet each thrust and Bofur had whispered hoarsely, barely able to catch his breath, "Smile, my love. It seems we have an audience."_

_Thorin's thrusts had stuttered a bit until he had seen what Bofur was referring to. He'd then leaned in, one hand reaching down to tug at Bofur's cock, and the other snaking up to pull Bofur's neck to his mouth, his thrusts slowing and deepening, and murmured thickly, "Well, then, we shall have to give her quite a show, yes?" Bofur had moaned and frantically reached behind him for any part of Thorin he could find, his hands settling on Thorin's arse, kneading it and pulling it forward. Their pace increased, and as Thorin's hands moved back to direct Bofur's hips Bofur let his head fall back on Thorin's shoulder as he chased his own release with his hand._

_Thorin's breath was hot in his ear, his hands heavy on Bofur’s hips as his own hand moved faster and his body drew up tightly in anticipation. “That's it, come for me, lover,” Thorin had murmured. “Want to feel you around me as you come, hear you cry out my name,” his hips punctuating the last words as Bofur felt a flood of warmth inside him and then he too fell over the edge with a shout, his seed spilling over his hand and even onto the pantry door. Laughing again, Bofur felt his knees give way, and he reached out blindly to stop his fall. He felt himself caught, his face gently, so so gently grasped and turned as Thorin sought his mouth, and they kissed deeply and unhurriedly, tasting and loving each other until at last Bofur had pulled away and whispered, “Unless we truly do desire an audience, I think we had better make ourselves scarce, and quickly.”_

_With a grin, Thorin had said, “And which of us shall clean the mess you've made, Master Bofur?”_

_“Since it was your fault,” Bofur had answered primly as he fastened his trousers, “I believe the task should fall to you, Majesty...although I shall reward you handsomely if it's done to my satisfaction.”_

_Stealing a quick kiss, Thorin had asked, “And may I take my reward out in trade?”_

 

*

 

He sat with a mug of ale, lost in thought. The tavern had begun to empty out as most of the patrons retired for the evening.

The head of the caravan - a tall, powerfully built dwarrowdam named Megra - stopped by his table before departing to politely ( _everyone is so polite now,_ Bofur thought wryly) let him know that the majority had decided to spend two full days in Bree, resting from the road and restocking supplies for the final push to Ered Luin. Bofur had nodded silently and after an awkward moment, Megra had turned and left.

He sat, his mind in the past.

 

*

 

The next morning dawned brightly, the warm sun of early summer streaming in and warming Bofur’s small room. He stretched, his body sore and spent from the weeks traveling, and then he simply lay there, trying to muster the energy to get out of the bed. He could see out the small window, and he watched a number of little birds fly past and alight on a large tree across the courtyard from the inn. He wondered how long he could lie there, undisturbed and ignored.

A small part of him fretted that the thought of never rising again was altogether too appealing. That part sounded a bit like Dori. The thought of what Dori would say if he saw Bofur lying in bed so late into the morning caused the ghost of a smile to cross his face.

The smell of bacon frying was finally enough to convince him to rise, dress himself and seek out some breakfast.

The tavern was bustling and most of the other members of the caravan were already enjoying the hearty fare provided by the innkeeper. There was certainly much to be said about traveling with the wealth of Erebor behind them, rather than as a golden-hued mirage in the distance, always just slightly out of reach. Gold in their pockets instead of under a sleeping dragon smoothed the way and provided for many more creature comforts than had been afforded the last time Bofur had traveled these roads.

The others kept their distance from him and he was grateful, and then almost ashamed of himself for feeling that way. It was not how he was raised, to be sure - a curt, nearly silent presence, slipping in and around the rest of the group like a shadow. It was simply the only way he knew to be now, the only way he could be and still live with himself.

He ate alone at the bar - bacon and toasted bread with butter washed down with milk. The day stretched out before him, as they all did, as hours to be filled with everything but what he longed to fill them with. Because of that, it mattered very little what he actually did.

Remembering he had promised to send a letter home letting his family know he had safely arrived in Ered Luin he decided to take care of that task a couple of weeks early. Truthfully there was very little that was likely to befall him between Bree and the Blue Mountains - the treacherous part of the journey was behind them, so he was comfortable reaching out to his kin to let them know he had entered the West.

Bofur, as well as his brother and cousin, had never learned as a dwarfling to read or write. Growing up in poverty had not allowed time for such trivialities, and frankly Bofur had never felt he was missing anything. What good was reading and writing when he made his living with his hands, mining during the day and carving whenever he could find the energy at night? It was not as if he needed to write letters - everyone he knew lived in Ered Luin; and as for reading...well. Oil was very dear, and to burn any at night for the sole purpose of entertainment would have been tantamount to throwing gold coins out the window. Every moment of his day and every penny he made, from the time he was very young, was accounted for. There was no time to read.

Thorin had changed that. To him it was unacceptable that any dwarf not know how to read and write, and certainly his chosen partner needed to learn. It was never approached as a fault or failing in Bofur but rather as a matter of fact, a small wrong to be righted. Feeling self-conscious about what he perceived (quite correctly) as a gift he was being given due to his new status as the beloved of Thorin Oakenshield, Bofur had insisted on Bombur, his wife Nirra and Bifur learning as well, along with Bombur’s then four children.

The whole family would sit studiously in Balin’s small house, pouring over the same primers used to teach the little ones; the adults gingerly and the children enthusiastically copying runes and piecing together simple sentences until one day, each in their own time, the small pieces would suddenly melt together into a more solid, sophisticated understanding of the written language. Balin tackled Westron first, and then as they each began to feel more facile with that language he moved them into Kuhzdul. Not surprisingly, Bifur proved most adept at the dwarves’ secret language. The rest of his family remained more comfortable reading and writing the common tongue.

Bofur never became as skilled as Nirra and the children, but he far outpaced Bombur (whose mind was just not made for something as abstract as written language) and in time grew to be quite a competent reader, if not so comfortable a writer.

His skills were more than up to the task of a letter home, though, and he knew Nirra or one of his now dozen nieces and nephews would be able to read whatever he saw fit to share.

He would have to be careful what he wrote. His family worried tremendously about him, and had only agreed to him leaving when he promised to keep in good touch, and told them he sincerely thought the distance would help ease his heart.

The truth was he honestly didn’t believe _anything_ would ease his heart, but that was a hard truth to share with your kin.

 

*

 

He wandered aimlessly around the street of Bree for a bit, remembering absently the way what seemed fairly harmless during the day felt anything but once the sun set.

That meeting with Gandalf, that "chance" meeting, had been here in Bree as well.

_“I wish you wouldn’t do this, not alone.”_

_Thorin had taken his hands and kissed them gently. “Love, if there is even the smallest chance he might still be alive, I must go. Surely you see that.”_

_Bofur sighed, pulling his hands away and steeling himself against the pointed look of hurt Thorin cast his way in response._

_“I understand full well why you must go,” he said shortly. “What I cannot understand is why you will not let anyone join you. I understand that I would only hold you back” - he raised a hand against Thorin’s automatic denial - “don’t even bother, we both know that’s true. I was not raised to the wilds as you were, and Mahal knows I am no warrior.”_

_Thorin reached out again, this time stroking his hand down Bofur's cheek gently._

_“Aye,” he said quietly, “and I am so grateful for that every day.”_

_Bofur, helpless against the gentle touch, grasped Thorin's hand firmly and pulled it down again._

_“I say I understand why it cannot be me, and I know full well the lads are too young - “_

_“Not to mention their mother would have my hide,” Thorin smiled._

_“And whose hide may I claim when you are killed on the road to Dunland with no one to protect your back?” Bofur retorted sharply. “This is no small thing we are discussing. What you plan - searching for Thrain alone based on mere rumor - it's madness! And I will not believe I am the only one who thinks so! What does Dwalin have to say about this, may I ask?”_

_Thorin shifted uncomfortably._

_“Oi! You've not yet told him, have you?” Bofur asked incredulously. “Thorin, of all the dangerous, reckless, foolhardy - “_

_“Stop.” The amusement had left Thorin's eyes and in its place was a regal stoicism, and a deeply wounded pride. “I can bear you calling me all manner of name, my heart, but I cannot abide being called a fool. Not by you.”_

_Bofur sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose._

_“Thorin, I beg you - do not undertake this alone. If you care naught for yourself then think of your family. Think of me.” He smiled a little and was warmed to see his lover smile in return. “After all, we both know I could never survive without you. Who would I spend my days trying to amuse, in vain most times I might add? It would be a life without purpose, and no dwarf deserves that.”_

_Thorin chuckled, and Bofur relaxed a little more. There, he thought to himself, at least now he will consider my words. And once Dwalin hears - by all the Valar, nothing would keep that stubborn son of Fundin from tagging along even if Thorin tells him not to._

But for the first time, Bofur had been wrong. Thorin had left a fortnight later, alone.

They did not see each other again for more than three years.

 

*

 

The day grew steadily warmer, and after a time Bofur decided he had wandered enough. He asked directions to the stationers from a vegetable vendor and was directed to the far northwest corner of the town.

He walked listlessly towards his destination, barely taking in the people and storefronts as he passed them. In short order he found himself at the stationers, strangely surprised to find it right where he'd been told it would be.

_Well, that's what a few decades with Thorin Oakenshield will get you,_ he thought ruefully. _One simply assumes one will lose their way, at least once._

The thought brought no comfort and instead served to lower his mood even further.

_When, when, will this get any easier?_ he thought despairingly. _How much more of this wretchedness am I meant to endure?_

And it was in this sorry state that Bofur once again came across Bilbo Baggins.

 

*

 

He pushed the door to the stationer's shop open, jumping a little at the crisp chime of the bell hung over the door. There were several other customers already inside, so he simply held back to wait until it was his turn.

His eyes wandered about the small, tidy store, and he began to make a list in his head of what he would need to purchase for his letter writing needs. He reminded himself to also ask how he could go about posting his letter once it was completed.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a voice raised in anger, ringing out through the small shop.

“Lobelia, for the last time, I shall never, I repeat _never_ , leave Bag End in your care, no matter where I might go, what I might do or how long I might be gone doing it! And if you continue to press me about it I shall take it up with the Thain. After the ugliness with my mother's silver, I should think you would not wish to draw such attention to yourself again.”

_By my beard,_ thought Bofur.

“Good day to you,” the voice continued. “And good day to you too, Reginard. My deepest apologies for this ridiculous little scene.”

“Fear not, Master Baggins,” came the amused reply. “We know the way of things.”

“The _way_ of things!” a third voice nearly shrieked. “Reginard Proudfoot, you should be _ashamed_ of yourself!"”

The conversation (if it could be called that) continued but Bofur didn't hear another word. He watched as Bilbo turned and began to stride toward the door. The hobbit was in such a state that for a brief moment Bofur wondered if he would actually storm past without seeing him, forcing him to give chase, but at the last moment their eyes met and Bilbo stopped abruptly.

His mouth fell open and his eyes widened; and upon seeing the hobbit's face for the first time in nearly five years Bofur felt something loosen in his chest, as if a great weight had been lifted off of it.

“Bofur?” he asked incredulously. “Can it really be you?”

“Hello, Bilbo,” Bofur said, and found he could not help but smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Bofur reconnect a bit, and Bilbo makes Bofur a kind offer.

Within the hour they were back at the Prancing Pony, a mug of ale for each and the remains of an enormous luncheon between them.

 

_How he can eat!_ Bofur wondered in amazement.   _He must have been starving on our journey if this is any indication of what he was used to._

 

Bilbo was in the midst of telling him about how he had been declared dead in light of his sudden and unexplained departure from the Shire five years ago, and how even his return had not been quite enough to stem the tide of paperwork that such a thing had prompted.

 

It all seemed very strange to Bofur.  That one’s kin would seemingly prefer one to be dead rather than alive did not sit well with him, and made him wonder a bit uneasily about the real nature of hobbits.  For all they seemed merry and gentle, wanting nothing more than creature comforts and the peace in which to enjoy them, Bilbo’s story hinted at a darker side, not unlike the greed many dwarves struggled with.

 

_It seems there is no race on Arda that does not have its burdens to bear,_ he mused, _or its nasty exceptions to the kindness of the majority._

 

His thoughts turned unbidden to Thorin, and he quickly turned them away again.

 

“And ever since, she has been practically tormenting me, wanting to know if I have made a will regarding Bag End, and if I have to whom am I leaving it.”  The hobbit snorted derisively.  “As if there were any way on this green earth I would leave it to her!  My father built Bag End for my mother as a wedding gift.  I was raised there!  To know that...that _she-orc_ was sitting at my kitchen table, sleeping in my bed, walking in my garden - well!  If I weren’t dead already, that would surely kill me where I stood!”

 

Bofur could not help but wince a little at that, although he tried to hide it.

 

Bilbo noticed, and was instantly chagrined.

 

“Oh, Bofur, please forgive me!  That was a terribly poor choice of words on my part!  I am so sorry.  I let myself get so caught up with her foolishness I forget myself.  My deepest apologies for my thoughtlessness.”

 

He looked so worried Bofur felt almost guilty for his instinctual reaction.  He shook his head and heard himself say, “It’s all right, Bilbo.  Truly.  Some wounds just take longer than one might think to heal, that’s all.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes softened a bit.

 

“Of course they do.  Losing someone you love is a dreadful thing.  And grieving takes as long as it takes.  It’s not something one can rush, is it?”

 

For some reason the hobbit’s words of sympathy did not seem nearly as cloying as most others did.  Bofur felt himself relax a bit more.

 

“That’s true,”, he admitted wearily.  “For many dwarves, it will never really end - just become more bearable with the passage of time.”  He chuckled ruefully.  “Or at least that’s what I am told.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment, but it was a comfortable one and for that Bofur was absurdly grateful.  For a race that understood and respected the concept of Ones, he had found precious few comfortable silences in Erebor these last five years.  

 

Then Bilbo suddenly said, “Why are you here in Bree?”

 

Sighing, Bofur decided he may as well be honest.  For whatever reason, speaking with Bilbo was proving to be strangely comforting, and not so fraught as similar conversations in Erebor had been.

 

“I needed to leave Erebor,” he said simply.  “It had become...too much.  To see his face everywhere, Fíli and Kíli’s too, and know they were all gone…” He sighed again.  “My heart was just too...heavy to stay.”

 

Bilbo nodded but did not say anything.  They were quiet a moment more and then Bofur surprised himself by speaking again.

 

“I know that must seem strange.  I had never seen Erebor before our journey, and I had never known Thorin until long after Smaug came.  It was not as if I returned to a place filled with memories of him and yet he was no longer there.  And yet…”

 

“Erebor was part of him, and he was part of Erebor, yes?” Bilbo asked quietly.  “I’m sure he shared many memories with you over the years, so many that it seemed as if you knew it as well as he did.”

 

Bofur felt tears sting his eyes.

 

“Yes,” he breathed.  “That’s it exactly.  To love him was to love Erebor, and even though I’d never been there our quest felt to me like going home.  And after he died…”

 

“After he died it no longer felt like home, did it?”  Bilbo interjected gently.  “It just felt like any other place, nothing safe or special at all.”

 

Bofur nodded, not trusting his voice.  His tears now fell freely, and he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

 

Bilbo leaned forward and grasped his hands.

 

“Have you been living in Bree?” he asked gently.  “Only I haven’t heard that you were, and I think I would have.  I’m known now as Mad Baggins and I usually hear about any and all dwarves that travel through here.  Everyone thinks I must know them, as if you are all related.”

 

Bofur huffed out a small laugh at that, and Bilbo took that opportunity to hand him his handkerchief, which made him laugh a little again.

 

“No, no, I’ve not been living in Bree,” he said, drying his tears with the handkerchief.  “I joined a caravan headed to Ered Luin.  Officially I am attempting to recruit dwarves to resettle in Erebor and meeting with Thorin’s sister to discuss diplomatic matters.  Unofficially…”

 

Bilbo clucked sympathetically.  “Unofficially you are looking for distractions and a change of scene.”

 

“A change of scene, yes,” Bofur agreed softly.  “I hope to lighten my heart, and to learn to think of him, of _all_ of them, without feeling such pain.”  His voice broke a little on the last word and he put his head down quickly.

 

It was quiet again, and this time Bilbo broke the silence.

 

“Well, this may sound odd,” he began hesitantly,  “but - would you like to come stay with me?  In the Shire, I mean?  Bag End has plenty of room and the summer is truly the most lovely time of year here.  The pace will be a good bit slower than what you are used to in Erebor, I imagine, and the life quite a bit more simple, but perhaps it would serve your purpose for a time.”

 

Bofur looked up, surprised again.  

 

“You would invite me into your home?” he asked.  “After, well...I know we were not very thoughtful guests the last time we were there...and we have not seen each other in so long…”

 

“Bofur, you are my good friend,” Bilbo said firmly.  “You showed me nothing but kindness on our journey together.  It would be my honor to have you as my guest for as long as you wish to stay, and my privilege to offer you a place to begin truly healing a bit.  It seems to me that is long overdue, is it not?”

 

Bofur swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat at Bilbo’s words.

 

“Aye,” he whispered.  “Long overdue.”

  
  


*

  
  


As Bilbo had traveled on foot to Bree (Bofur had asked what the hobbit had been doing there himself but had only received a vague “Oh, business, after a fashion” in response) Bofur chose to sell the pony he had purchased for the journey with the caravan.  There was no convenient place to stable a pony nearby Bag End, and Bofur decided it would be easier to simply retain a new one when the time came for him to continue on.

 

After penning a quick note to Nirra, letting his family in Erebor know the change in his plans, he sent along a lengthier note to the Lady Dís with the caravan.

 

He was very deliberate with the wording.  Having known Dís as long as he had known Thorin, he loved her as deeply as if she were his own sister, but her mercurial nature gave him pause.  She was different than Thorin in that way.  Where Thorin would simmer for a very long time, giving any who knew him many opportunities to divert his growing anger, Dís was much quicker to temper, and far less predictable than her brother had been in what would set her off in the first place.  Bofur knew the boys had more than once been taken completely by surprise when behavior that had previously been deemed acceptable, at least tacitly, had abruptly one day been anything but.  Even Thorin had been known to watch himself around her from time to time.

 

Bofur had always gotten along with her swimmingly.  He admired her sharp intelligence and her absolutely inability to suffer fools, even if politically that were not the wisest course of action.  

 

They had not seen each other since he had left Ered Luin all those years ago.  He had only corresponded with her once since then, to tell her of the fate of her family.  She had written back, telling him she loved him and was relieved that he had survived, but they had not exchanged letters since then.  He knew Balin and Dáin were in touch with her and it was through Balin that he learned she was not planning to come to Erebor.  That she had not told him this herself spoke volumes to him, and he had been uncertain exactly how to reach out after that.

 

Her decision to stay in Ered Luin had been one of the things Balin had asked him to discuss with her, as well as potentially drawing up a formal alliance between Ered Luin and Erebor.  

 

There was also the much more delicate matter of her inheritance via her family’s deaths to be discussed.  Bofur was certain such a thing had not been broached by Balin or Dáin with her via their ongoing correspondence, but apparently the lords of Erebor were growing restless, wanting to know how much of it, if any, Erebor would be allowed to keep.

 

Sorting out that ghoulish business was also something Balin had asked Bofur to discuss with her.

 

Since she was expecting him with the caravan, he decided to be as straightforward as possible in his letter.  His trepidation stemmed largely from the silence of the last few years.  They may have once had a fine relationship, but despite her assurances to the contrary in the one letter he’d received, Bofur could not help but worry she did in fact hold him at least partly responsible for the deaths of her sons and brother.  Knowing he was rather selfishly choosing himself over his duty to her by his detour to the Shire didn’t ease his guilt much.

 

After a good deal of consideration, he penned the letter to the best of his ability and sent it off with Megra, hoping Dís would forgive him this choice.  It was unorthodox, he knew, but he already was breathing easier and knew in his bones he had done right by accepting Bilbo’s generous offer.

 

After a summer in the Shire, he hoped he would be ready to not only face her, but the rest of his life, without such a press of sorrow on his heart.

 

_My dear Dís,_

_I hope this letter finds you well.  As you can see, I am no longer with the caravan but fear not, I am safe and comfortable in the Shire of all places.  I have accepted the invitation of our Company's burglar, Bilbo Baggins, to spend the summer with him in his home and enjoy the peace and simplicity of hobbits for a brief time._

_I know I was to have seen you sooner than I am now planning to, and I hope you will forgive and understand my delay.  These past few years have been terribly difficult for me, as I know they have been for you, and part of why I left Erebor was to try to find some small measure of peace in whatever time remains to me.  Such peace was not to be found in Thorin’s kingdom, but I hope I may find a bit of it in the Shire._

_I am concerned it may seem as if I do not wish to see you.  Please know nothing could be further from the truth.  I have missed you terribly these past years and regret that we have not been in better touch.  Had we been, perhaps this would not feel so difficult, explaining why I need this time.  Just know I will see you in the autumn, and that I look forward more than I have words to express to embracing you, and supporting you in your grief as I know you will support me in mine._

_Should you need anything from me, please do not hesitate to contact me at Bilbo’s._

_Be well, my lovely sister, and know I will see you soon._

_Bofur_

He debated asking Bilbo to look it over for him as he would always be self-conscious about his skill in writing, but in the end he deemed it too personal, and Mahal knew he did not want to answer the questions he feared might arise if Bilbo _did_ read it.

  
  


*

  
  


The walk back to Bag End took a day and a half, but Bilbo had been right - summer in the Shire was spectacularly lovely.  The air was soft and mild and smelled of lilacs and all Bofur could see stretching before him in every direction were gently rolling hills and endless flowers and trees.

 

They spent the night under an apple tree on the western side of the Brandywine.  They were not terribly far from Bag End, but both were tired and as they were in no rush, they decided to enjoy the night air and sleep under the stars.

 

Being in Bilbo’s company again felt both comforting and peculiar to Bofur.  Unlike the dwarves of their company, he had only met Bilbo at the beginning of their journey, so each and every memory of him was somehow tied up with a memory of Thorin.  It was strangely moving in a very profound way and, as had happened in Bree, Bofur found himself not so pained when thoughts of Thorin would arise.  Somehow here, in this company, the same memories that would render him inert or even inconsolable on particularly bad days felt more poignant, more gentle.

 

They even laughed a little that evening as Bilbo shared some of his precious Old Toby with him, remembering how the dwarves had stripped down naked to bathe in the fountain at Rivendell, and Bilbo offering an impression of first himself, shocked and scandalized, and then Lord Elrond’s imagined reaction had them both laughing fairly loudly by the time they were through.

 

_How long had it been since I have laughed like this?_ Bofur thought bemusedly.   _And it feels so good!_

 

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than he sobered abruptly, feeling suddenly traitorous and disloyal.

 

And again, Bilbo noticed the change in mood instantly.

 

“Well, I think that is enough for me tonight,” he said, yawning and stretching.  “Would it be terribly rude if I turned in?  Only that hobbits are delicate creatures, you know, and I am sorely out of practice keeping up with dwarves.”

 

Bofur smiled slightly, understanding exactly what Bilbo was doing.

 

“No offense taken, Master Baggins,” he responded quietly, “so long as you do not mind my staying up a bit longer.  I have missed the beauty of the western skies these past five years.”

 

Bilbo smiled, and reached out to squeeze Bofur’s arm briefly.

 

“Good night, then,” he said.  “And Bofur?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I am very glad you decided to come with me.  Very glad indeed.”

 

Bofur nodded thoughtfully.

 

_"I will never, could never, love another as I love you."_

“You know, Bilbo?  I think I am too,” he said quietly.

  
  


*

  
  


They arrived at Bilbo’s home just after midday.

 

Bofur stood in wonder at the small gate, not quite daring to venture in.  Everything was just so - the trim little fence, the round, bright green door with the handle in the middle, the flowers blooming happily in the garden.  He had not taken the time to truly appreciate what a lovely, graceful home Bilbo had willingly left for the sake of helping thirteen strangers who had arrived unannounced on his doorstep.

 

Bofur could not say with any certainty he would have been so quick to leave behind a home such as this.  It was not dwarven in any way and yet he felt a tug in his core towards it.

 

Bilbo had opened the gate and after checking his letter box was about to open the door before he noticed Bofur had not followed him up the walk.  

 

“Bofur?” he inquired cautiously.  “Is everything all right?”

 

_They say the longest journey begins with a single step._

 

_Is this how it begins?_ wondered Bofur.   _Is this how I too turn away from him, begin to forget, begin to crawl out from under my mountain of grief?_

 

_Does it begin with accepting kindness when it is offered?  Or laughing with a friend?_

_Is it as simple as_ choosing _to do those things, rather than choosing to hold on?_

Suddenly Bofur realized he was perhaps more attached to his pain than he had thought.  The thought of stepping away from it, even a tiny bit, filled him with panic.

 

“Bofur?”  The tone was more concerned, and the voice felt as if it were coming from a far distance away.

 

_"I will never, could never, love another as I love you."_

_But must that mean I choose to live in sorrow?_  he thought, his heart racing a little, his throat tightening.  Is _it a choice?  I had thought it the only path but now…_

 

He closed his eyes and breathed.  

 

He waited.

 

_"Leaving you...it breaks my heart."_

_It broke mine too,_ thought Bofur.   _And now I feel there is a way to heal it, just a little.  Can you forgive me?  Can you forgive me this journey without you?_

_"Nothing to forgive."_

His eyes snapped open at the soft touch of a small hand on his arm.

 

“It’s all right, you know.”  Bilbo’s face was solemn but his eyes were warm.  “In the Shire we believe there is a time for everything, and that includes a time to let go a bit.  He will always be with you, but surely he would want to see you smile again, don’t you think?”

 

_"Nothing to forgive."_

 

“I hope so, Bilbo,” Bofur whispered hoarsely.  “Because I think I am finally ready to smile again.”

 

He grasped the hobbit’s hand firmly, and let him lead him up the path and through the cheery green door.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur comes to a profound realization.

The inside was as cozy as Bofur remembered.  

 

He kicked off his boots before Bilbo needed to ask him to, and set down his pack next to the door, looking around.  That first evening here, over five years ago, was admittedly a bit of a blur and he had been so worried about Thorin, but even then he had noticed and admired the tidy and inviting decor and the overwhelming amount of food in the larder.  

 

It had taken Bilbo some time to convince the Company that he had absolutely _not_ been expecting them that night when, to a dwarf’s sensibilities, the volume of food would indicate otherwise.

 

_“So every bit of that in your larder...that was all for you?  And you alone?”  Kíli had asked incredulously, yelping at Fíli’s admonishing smack on the arm.  “What?  It’s not as if we weren’t all wondering!”_

_Bilbo had chuckled self-consciously._

_“Hobbits are used to seven meals a day, you know,” he’d said, blushing.  “And, well, perhaps I do go a bit overboard but my mother always said it was better to have too much than too little, as you never know who might come calling.  And I didn’t see you complaining when you took your third helping of ham!”_

_Fíli and Ori had whooped in glee as Kíli had flushed red._

_“Apologies, Bilbo,” he’d muttered.  “It’s just...well...you’re so tiny!  I mean no offense, but where does it all go?”_

_“Oi!  Kíli, mind your manners,” Thorin had said firmly from across their camp site.  Bofur had been nearly senseless with laughter at this point, as had Fíli and Ori._

_“It’s only what everyone else here wants to ask but never would!” Kíli had defended._

_“And perhaps there is a reason for that, yes?” Thorin had said rather gently, before he lost his struggle against his own laughter, and once Thorin began, it was not long before the lot of them were nearly howling._

_When the laughter began to die down a bit, Bilbo had straightened up and said with as much dignity as he could muster, “As to your question, Master Kíli:  We have been comrades long enough you surely know the answer to that question of yours by now...unless your eyesight is as poor as your etiquette.”_

_And that had served to send them all off into peals of laughter once more._

Without the distraction of a brooding lover and a passel of unruly dwarves, Bofur had the opportunity to notice many fine details he had overlooked before. There were portraits of two different hobbits over the mantel, a male and a female, and a number of beautiful ceramic vases and bowls made in the style of the Men of Rohan peppered about the room, many of them graced with cheerily blooming flowers.  Books were stacked neatly throughout; and a large, cozy blanket, delicately embroidered with blossoming vines, was draped across the back of a comfortable looking armchair.

 

The kitchen was bright and warm in the afternoon sun and the table was set neatly for one with a simple place setting.  Bofur was amused to note it was of far finer quality than that which the hobbit had made available to the Company on the night he had been there last.

 

As he followed Bilbo down the hallway something caught his eye and he stopped short, a small sound escaping him.

 

Bilbo turned with a questioning look on his face and let his gaze follow Bofur's.  He flushed deeply when he saw what had startled his friend so deeply.

 

"Oh! Umm, well, he - Balin, I mean - he said I could take it," he said haltingly.  "I wanted something from our travels together, something that was not a jewel or gold...or a weapon."  He chuckled nervously, clearly agitated by Bofur's silence.  "The map seemed, I don't know - _hobbity_ I suppose, somehow.  It felt like it belonged here.  And frankly I think Balin was happy to have it leave Erebor, lest the secret of the hidden door become more common knowledge."

 

Bofur still could not speak, only look upon the map they had not even known existed until that night in Bag End.

 

_“When do you think your father gave Gandalf that map and key?  How long has he been holding onto them?”_

_Thorin snorted.  “Who knows?  Whatever secrets the wizard holds appear to be his to keep or share as he sees fit.  To suit whatever his larger purpose may be.”_

_Bofur laughed a little.  “Well, isn’t that how secrets work for most of us?” he asked, amused._

_Thorin only drew him in more closely, pressing Bofur’s back tightly against his chest.  They lay in the small bed, boots kicked off but still fully clothed._

_“He told me nothing of them last year in Bree,” he said quietly.  “So I am either to believe he has seen my father since then and yet not told me, or that he told me he would help me find the Arkenstone and rally the Seven Kingdoms against Smaug, and yet did not see fit to tell me he had a map and a key that could aid in that very endeavor.”_

_Bofur sighed and turned in Thorin’s arms to face him._

_“Well,” he drawled, “when you put it that way…”_

_He was immensely gratified to see Thorin laugh softly._

_Leaning in to gently kiss Bofur’s nose and the corners of his mouth, Thorin murmured, “How is it possible that you are able to make me laugh even on a night such as this?  We now know there are to be only thirteen of us - “_

_“Fourteen if this Bilbo fellow comes too,” Bofur cut in._

_Thorin pulled back and gave Bofur a cynical look.  “You must be mad if you think that soft little creature will be joining our quest, particularly after your words about incineration made it sound ever so appealing.”_

_Bofur ducked his head sheepishly.  “Ah, now, that was mostly to get some manner of reaction out of you,” he admitted.  “Who knew hobbit sensibilities were so frail?”_

_“A reaction from me?”  Thorin asked, surprised.  “I shudder to think what sort of reaction you were hoping for.”_

_Giving him a small smile, Bofur reached out and tugged gently on a long, dark braid._

_“I suppose I just wanted your attention,” he said quietly.  “Just for a moment.  And like a child I decided it perhaps didn’t matter what sort of attention it was, I simply wanted your eyes on me.  They had not been since you arrived,” he added lamely, suddenly feeling terribly guilty._

_Thorin said nothing for a moment.  They lay facing each other in the silence, and Bofur watched as Thorin’s eyes moved down to Bofur’s hand, still grasping his braid lightly, and then back up to meet his again.  Then they traveled higher._

_“Would you consider taking your hat off before I snog you senseless?” he whispered.  “You know how much I hate it.”_

_Bofur threw his hat off so hastily Thorin began to laugh again.  He felt his heart swell to near bursting, full of so much love for Thorin he was felt almost breathless.  He pulled on Thorin’s braid harder, and Thorin’s answering growl set his belly on fire with arousal._

_Their lips met, and Bofur’s groan was so loud and deep that Thorin chuckled a little into their kiss.   Surging up, Bofur pushed Thorin back and crawled on top of him, neither of them breaking their kiss.  Thorin’s tongue swiped hotly against Bofur’s lips and he groaned again, opening his mouth and deepening their kiss._

_Thorin’s hands came up to caress Bofur’s face, and Bofur moved his kisses to Thorin’s neck, biting and sucking and reveling in the gasps Thorin made, and the hot, hard length he could feel stirring against his thigh._

_He reached down between them, his hand slipping into Thorin’s trousers to squeeze it gently, and Thorin nearly arched off the bed.  In a flash he upended them, so that Bofur suddenly found himself on the bottom, with Thorin above him, holding his wrists in one hand and grinning wolfishly down._

_“Do you mean to have me here, in a strange gentlehobbit’s guest room?” he purred.  “If my memory of Balin’s decorum and etiquette classes are correct, I do believe that would be considered ill-mannered on our part.”_

_Bofur whined at the loss of contact, and then sighed happily when Thorin leaned in to mouth at his throat and ear._

_“I’m only a miner, Majesty,” he managed, squirming deliciously under Thorin’s attentions.  “Fortunately no one ever told_ me _such a thing.  I say a bed is for only two things, and I do not feel ready to sleep just yet.”_

_At that, Thorin laughed loudly and Bofur was sure his heart would explode with joy this time.  The anxiety and sadness he had felt earlier in the evening, the miserable drop of uneasiness he’d felt in his belly ever since Thorin had arrived had melted away into something easier and softer and Thorin’s laughter ignited it into hot flames of desire._

_They made love as quietly as they could, and as neatly as they could considering Thorin’s wish to be discreet.  And when they were sated and Bofur was almost asleep, Thorin spoke again._

_“I am sorry for my behavior at dinner.”_

_Bofur blinked, rousing himself again._

_He said nothing, just brushed Thorin’s temple with his lips tenderly, and waited._

_“I sat outside on that bench for a long while tonight, listening," he continued. "You all sounded so...merry, and I was loathe for all that to end the way I knew it would when I made my presence known.”_

_Bofur kept still, his hand toying with Thorin’s hair._

_After a moment Thorin sighed and said resignedly, “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”_

_“Not at all,” Bofur said cheerily.  “If you are trying to make me feel sorry for you, well, apologies but it’s not working.  It was_ you _who behaved like an arse so now it is you who must make amends. I will however tell you” - he moved his lips to Thorin’s ear and licked the edge of it softly, nibbling the lobe with his teeth - “you have been doing quite well with amends so far.”_

_Thorin chuckled a little and rolled over to face Bofur.  He gave his lover a small smile and reached over to run Bofur’s hair through his fingers, his manner slowing changing and becoming more serious._

_“This quest…” he began haltingly.  “We are truly starting it.  We are leaving at daylight to return to Erebor or die in the attempt.”_

_“...yes?” Bofur asked hesitantly.  He ceased his caresses and leaned back, resting his head on one hand and looking at Thorin._

_“I am...disappointed the other kingdoms have refused to help us,” Thorin acknowledged with characteristic understatement._

 

_Bofur quirked his eyebrow in response._

_“All right, more than disappointed,” he admitted wryly.”  “But I always knew without the Arkenstone they were not likely to offer aid.”_

_“Still seems right cowardly to me,” Bofur muttered, his free hand caressing Thorin’s hip._

_“You were not there that morning, âzyungâl, ,” Thorin said gently.  “It is not cowardly to refuse to face what likely cannot be defeated by might.”_

_Bofur nodded, accepting the gentle rebuke silently._

_“But even more than that,” Thorin continued, his voice low, “even more than knowing our company consists of the dwarves under this very roof and no more, is the thought that we are finally on our way.  Something I have dreamed of for so much of my life, thought about each and every day.”_

_His eyes, which had been drifting around the room as he pieced his thoughts together suddenly focused on Bofur, and the miner felt a tingle shoot up his spine._

_“After all this time, it is finally beginning.”_

_Bofur smiled at him._

_“You are not alone in this,” he said.  “I will follow wherever you lead.  And not only because I love you.  I also_ like _you, and you are my king.”_

_Thorin smiled back._

_“If there are to be only thirteen,” he whispered, “I thank Mahal one of them is you.”_

_His large hand reached up slowly to trace the other’s lips with his fingers, sighing as Bofur drew one of those fingers into his mouth, sucking on it gently, watching as Thorin’s eyes grew darker and his expression more heated._

_Taking Thorin’s hand in his own, he let his tongue dart out quickly to ensnare another finger.  He sucked on both eagerly, his tongue laving their lengths and his hand serving to move them in and out of his mouth, slowly and steadily._

_Thorin’s sigh melted into a moan, and his other hand reached out to grasp the back of Bofur’s head, the fingers tangling in the miner’s unbound hair and ever so gently encouraging his head to move more quickly on Thorin’s fingers._

_Bofur drew in a third finger._

_Thorin gasped a little and then leaned in, closing the already tiny space between them and running his teeth along the cords of Bofur’s throat._

_Bofur tipped his head back, exposing more of his neck, and made a muffled noise of pleasure around his full mouth.  Leaving one hand on Thorin’s to guide him he dropped the other to the king’s erection, hard and already leaking._

_Thorin hissed and his head fell forward, their foreheads thunking together._

_“Durin’s beard, Bofur,” Thorin whispered, “only you could turn my confession and apology into...into...this.”_

_Bofur hummed in agreement, twisting and stretching his hand around until he had both their cocks in his hand; using the fluid leaking from them to slick up his hand as he stroked them both together, hard and fast, the friction searing in a glorious way._

_“Ahhh,” Thorin moaned.  “Bofur, you...close!  So - ohhh, don’t stop, don’t stop...”_

_Bofur let Thorin’s fingers fall out of his mouth gently, kissing each one and biting at the palm of Thorin’s hand._

_“Yes,” he whispered, “yes, that’s it.  Just...for me, Thorin, only for me.”_

_“Bofur,” was the answering sigh, long and drawn out as Thorin’s whole body stilled abruptly and then warm wetness soaked Bofur’s hand._

_He thrust his own hips hard twice more and then felt himself tip over, a whine escaping his lips as more wetness spurted over his hand._

_He held onto both of them for a few moments longer, his stroking slowing down and gentling.  He felt their arousals begin to slowly soften, and that softness made him inexplicably sad._

_He reluctantly withdrew his hand and reached out to wipe it unceremoniously on the bottom of his tunic, prompting a snort from Thorin._

_“What?” he said defensively.  “I thought were we to keep things as neat as possible in the hobbit’s precious home.  Where else would you like me to put it, may I ask?”_

_Thorin grinned wickedly and reached to pull Bofur’s hand up._

_“Would you really like me to answer that?” he asked with deceptive sweetness, swiping his tongue around Bofur’s fingers, licking up the last remaining drops that still clung there._

_“Oh, you,” Bofur said weakly, his eyes fixed to Thorin’s mouth.  “Your Majesty knows how much I...enjoy it when you do that.”_

_Thorin huffed out a small laugh, his breath ghosting over Bofur’s fingers.  He gave them each a final lick and a kiss, saying, “Aye, that I do.  That I do.”_

_“Well,” Bofur said finally, when he had caught his breath, “you may consider your apology accepted.”_

_They smiled at each other, warm and wide.  For the first time since Thorin had joined them that day, Bofur felt at ease.  He felt_ seen _, for lack of a better word.  To have Thorin’s eyes slide over him so casually earlier had burned a small scar on his heart but now...now he felt cared for, as he always had, and loved._

_A small voice rose in his mind, warning him what had happened earlier was only the beginning._

_He hushed it firmly._

_And that was something he would later come to regret._

 

“Would you like to take it?”

 

The question seemed to come as if from a far distance away, and Bofur blinked while he tried to ground himself back in the present.

 

“Pardon?”

 

Bilbo smiled awkwardly and said again, “Would you like to take it?  The map, I mean?  It occurs to me now that no one likely thought to ask _you_ how you felt about it at the...the, umm, time, and…” his voice trailed off and he looked up at Bofur questioningly.  “Is that why you are upset?  I promise you I meant no disrespect, I only - “

 

“Bilbo.”

 

The hobbit stopped talking and just stood there, looking extremely uncomfortable.

 

Bofur took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

 

“I am not upset you have the map.  Truly,” he said carefully.  “It is only...well, seeing it again after so long has made me remember things and think of...times...I had not thought of for a long while.”  He tried to smile reassuringly at Bilbo but it felt false and stiff on his face.

 

_It must look strange too,_ he thought ruefully as he noted that the crease between Bilbo’s eyebrows only deepened.

 

“Bofur - “

 

“Bilbo, please.  Please believe me.”  He gave up trying to smile and instead focused on being as truthful as he could.  “It is only that seeing it made me think of my first night in Bag End, and...and Thorin.  That is all.  I am not angry or concerned, I promise you.”

 

Bilbo’s face relaxed a bit, and he began to look relieved.

 

“All right then,” he said.  “I shall trust that you are being honest with me in this regard and are not trying to spare my feelings.”

 

That made Bofur smile genuinely, just a little.

 

“Begging your pardon, Bilbo,” he teased, “but I am a dwarf.  The concept of sparing another’s feelings is quite unfamiliar to me.  So you can be sure that is not what I am doing with you.”

 

Bilbo laughed and Bofur felt his smile grow a bit, the sensation both foreign and familiar.

 

“We may as well get this up front between us,” Bilbo then said.  “I would ask that you make yourself at home here, and not hesitate to ask for or seek out anything you might need to be comfortable.  And that includes being honest with me if I ask about something you’d rather not discuss, or telling me plainly if you want to talk about something in greater depth.”

 

Bofur opened his mouth to deny that he would ever want or need to do _that,_ and Bilbo interrupted him gently.

 

“I know the latter might seem strange but honestly, after the loss of my parents, I did sometimes find that speaking about them eased my heart a bit.”

 

Bofur nodded slowly and they regarded each other for a moment.

 

Then Bilbo stuck his hand out and said crisply, “So are we agreed then, Master Bofur?”

 

And before Bofur knew what was happening his hand was reaching out to meet Bilbo’s in a firm handshake, and he heard his voice say, “Agreed, Master Baggins.”

 

*

 

The first few days and weeks were strange but not disagreeable.  Indeed, Bofur had to admit to himself the strangest part was how comfortable he felt, the most comfortable since Thorin’s death.  He enjoyed a rather splendid anonymity in the Shire, gathering attention wherever he went, to be sure; but it was for simply being a dwarf, rather than the beloved of Thorin Oakenshield.  He sensed the hobbits in general knew very little about what Bilbo had gone off to do, or with whom, and that most of them cared even less.  

 

That alone was a remarkable and welcome change from Erebor, where most days he had to endure some strange dwarf insisting on sharing a memory of Thorin, whether or not they had actually known him, or asking him a question about their dead king - what had he been like, what had been important to him, what had it been like to love him.

 

Bofur, who had always been gregarious and friendly almost to a fault, found himself wanting to crawl away from the barrage of intimate questions, each one seeming to chip away a tiny bit of something he did not want to share with anyone.  It was as if his memories of Thorin had become as precious as the Arkenstone and he hoarded each and every one with a jealousy that grew only more fiery with each passing day and each well-intentioned stranger.

 

Speaking of Thorin with those who had not known him felt profoundly wrong, as if he were spilling water onto stone only to watch it drain away, wasted and useless.  And so he had grown stiffer and more guarded, reluctant to let any of what was left to him of Thorin escape into a stranger’s question.

 

But here...here it was different.  The questions were about Bilbo, and how he knew Bilbo, and was he one of the dwarves Master Baggins had run off with and hadn’t _that_ been a foolish thing to do and well you know about Tooks of course, oh you _don’t?_  Well let me _tell_ you...and then they’d be off and running on an entirely different topic, the quest and Bofur’s part in it utterly forgotten.

 

And he started to feel almost happy, for the first time in years.   _Happy,_ of all things.

 

And after a time, he began to feel other things as well.

 

*

 

It was at the wedding of Bilbo’s cousin that Bofur first noticed feeling differently about his friend.

 

Saffron was actually Bilbo’s second cousin by marriage on his father’s side, but that was close enough to get them both invited to the wedding, and as the day approached, Bofur found himself actually looking forward to it.  His time in the Shire was having the desired effect - he was relaxing more each day, and feeling more like himself - less strained and brittle and more easy, more ready to laugh.

 

Bilbo had explained the hobbit custom of offering gifts to your guests at social events such as birthdays and weddings, and Bofur had listened politely and then firmly told Bilbo under no circumstances was he going to a wedding empty-handed.

 

_“But Bofur, it’s the way it’s done here!” Bilbo had protested.  “It would be terribly awkward to force Saffron and her groom to accept a gift on their wedding day!”  He shuddered and continued, “I almost cannot bring myself to say it!  It’s just not done!”_

_Bofur had shaken his head, saying, “Bilbo, I mean this with all due respect, but that is as absurd a custom as I have ever heard.  And my mother, may she rest in peace, would quite literally climb out of the stone in which she’s buried, find her way to the Shire and throttle me if I attended a wedding without a gift for the bride and groom.”_

_“But Bofur…” the hobbit had practically wailed._

_“But nothing.” Bofur had replied sternly.  “Now, you can either waste your time trying to talk me out of it, or you can help me try to figure out something I can make that they might enjoy and get some use out of.”_

 

In the end, they had decided on a rocking chair.

 

Bofur had admittedly been a tad nervous once the battle was over and the chair was being crafted, and was much more than a tad nervous the morning he left to deliver it, wondering if he hadn’t possibly fought Bilbo a little too hard on this issue, and if maybe he was going to look like an uncivilized orc for insisting on making them a present.

 

He needn’t have worried.  The look of surprise and unbridled joy on Saffron’s face when she saw what he had done was worth every moment of unease he’d had during the making and delivering of it, and her embrace settled something in his soul.  When he arrived back at Bag End, it was all he could do not to crow, “I told you so”, although his smug demeanor had Bilbo rolling his eyes and spending much longer out in the garden that particular afternoon than was his custom.

 

And now here they were at the Party Tree, in the middle of Hobbiton, with what looked like most of the town in attendance; standing and witnessing Saffron pledge herself to Milo Burrows, dressed in brightly colored hobbit attire (Bilbo had insisted and Bofur had agreed to have something commissioned), and Bofur felt _happy_ again.  It had been happening more and more and he was at a loss to explain it, other than good food, good friends and the comfort of a warm hearth - those stalwart components of the hobbit lifestyle.

 

_Maybe they are on to something,_ Bofur thought, amused.   _After all, I don’t know that I’ve met an unhappy, broody hobbit.  They seem on the whole to be quite content, even delightful in their pleasure and pursuits._

He turned a little to look at Bilbo, smiling as he did so.

 

_He has been so warm to me, such a dear dear friend,_ he mused fondly.   _For him to offer up his home when we have not spoken or even written in so long…_

 

It was then that Bilbo must have felt eyes on him, because he looked over at Bofur, and grinned when he caught his eye.

 

The sight of that grin, so wide and warm, directed just at him, made his heart skip a beat.

 

He looked down quickly, thoroughly confused.

 

_What…?_

 

His hand drifted up to his chest and rubbed it absently.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Bilbo had directed his attention back toward the wedding ceremony.

 

He directed his that way as well.

 

He heard, “Your first kiss as marrieds!” and then a great cheer went up as Saffron and Milo leaned in to each other, and kissed each other very enthusiastically; so enthusiastically that the cheering soon turned to laughter and whistles as the kiss deepened and showed no signs of ending anytime soon.

 

Bilbo was laughing too, and he turned to Bofur to say, “I give them two hours at most at the reception.  What do you say?”

 

“What do…?” Bofur stammered, still thoroughly turned around.

 

“What’s your guess?”  Bilbo explained.  “How long until they sneak off together?  After a kiss such as that I fear my guess may be overly optimistic.”

 

He laughed again and Bofur felt the laughter pierce him in a very peculiar way.  It made him feel strangely peaceful, and warmth began to blossom in his chest.  

 

“I give them three quarters of an hour,” he managed smoothly and Bilbo laughed harder.

 

The piercing feeling returned and Bofur did not know what to do.  Bilbo was turning, heading towards the party and the food, and he found he could barely think straight.

 

His hand shot out and snagged Bilbo’s sleeve.

 

“Wait, Bilbo.  I - “

 

He stopped, not having the first idea what he wanted to say.

 

Bilbo had paused and was looking back at him, waiting.

 

“I…” he tried again.  

 

Still nothing.

 

He swallowed, but the dryness in his throat scratched and he coughed a bit.

 

Bilbo’s look became concerned.

 

“Bofur, are you all right?  Do you need something to drink?”

 

His flailing mind grasped at that idea as if it were drowning.

 

“Yes!  Yes, please, Bilbo, a drink.  A drink would be lovely,”

 

Bilbo smiled.

 

“You head right over to the chairs and sit down.  You do look a little pale,” he added, his eyes squinting a bit as he regarded Bofur closely.  “I’ll be right back with some water and some ale.”

 

Bofur wanted to protest that he was fine, which he knew he was, but truthfully he needed a moment to pull himself together, to try to sort out what was happening.  So he simply nodded gratefully, and turned to start walking up the hill to the tents.

 

By the time Bilbo reached him bearing not only water and ale but food as well, Bofur’s heart had settled down, and the strange peaceful feeling had been replaced by the rather more urgent and entirely identifiable feeling of hunger.

 

He decided he had merely been feeling a bit faint from the standing, and perhaps a bit emotional from the wedding itself.

 

That dwarves tend to be neither easy fainters nor overly emotional beings was brushed over and set aside in favor of closing the books on the whole matter.

 

It was only much, much later that Bofur realized that was the afternoon he had begun to fall in love with Bilbo.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor comes to Bag End, and Bofur tries hard to sort out his feelings.

The knock on the door some weeks later startled Bofur out of his concentration.  He had been busily carving a small wooden horse (to go with the wooden pig and cow already completed) for the expected child of another relative.  Bilbo's cousin Drogo and his sweetly pretty wife Primula were awaiting their first any moment, and having met them at Saffron's wedding Bofur had decided it only right and proper to make their little one a small gift.  

 

He had been relieved that gifts for _babies_ were considered perfectly acceptable.

 

_“So the child is not expected to make their first appearance with presents for their guests already chosen and clutched in their tiny little hands, then?” Bofur asked dryly._

_Bilbo swatted him on the arm.  “Oh, very funny.  I suppose you think you are quite hilarious now.”_

_Bofur shook his head sagely.  “I_ know _I am quite hilarious.  It is not a matter of opinion.”_

_Bilbo threw back his head and laughed, and Bofur felt that increasingly familiar tug of warmth.  It had been happening more and more regularly, in response to Bilbo’s smiles and laughter usually, and today was no different._

_He watched, amused, as Bilbo laughed, noticing for the first time the way his hair seemed to change color a bit depending on the light.  When they would work out in the garden, Bilbo teaching him the names of all the plants and flowers and how to coax tiny little green cuttings into taking hold and blooming all on their own, it would seem almost golden in the sunlight._

_And now he realized it must be the sun that made it glow that way, because inside - as they were now, sitting in the den in front of the fireplace, their feet up while they enjoyed a mug of ale and listened to the sound of rain falling softly outside - inside his hair appeared darker, the golden hue tinged with auburn and copper._

_It was quite lovely really, and for some reason Bofur could not pull his eyes away ._

_He suddenly was no more conscious of staring than he was of breathing, the act of studying Bilbo’s soft curls and counting all the colors he saw reflected there as natural as the rise and fall of his chest, and nearly as vital._

_“Bofur?”_

_The sound of Bilbo’s voice, raised in a question, served as a thunderclap, thrusting him suddenly back into awareness; and he felt his cheeks grow warm as he realized how he’d been staring, his mouth practically agape._

What am I  -

_“Bofur?  Are you quite well?  You seem pale again.”_

_Bofur shook his head briskly._

_“No, no - I’m fine,” he said quickly.  “I think the ale may have gone to my head.”_

_Bilbo looked at him, so kindly; and Bofur’s heart sped up, just a little._

_“Were you thinking of him?  Would it perhaps help to share the thought?”_

_With a start of dismay, Bofur realized he had not been thinking of Thorin.  Not even a tiny bit.  He had been thoroughly swept away and distracted, but not due to thoughts of his lover._

_It had been due to thoughts of Bilbo._

_That revelation whipped through him like fire.  His stomach rolled a bit, and now he really did feel pale and sick._

_He felt gutted._

_He rose, made stammering apologies to Bilbo, who looked so worried it made him feel even more ill, and then he excused himself to his room, shut the door and began to weep._

_And to make a bad situation even worse, the next morning he woke to find Bilbo had stayed up well into the night making him a delectable vanilla pecan layered cake with a cream cheese filling, and all because he knew of Bofur’s fondness for pecans._

The knock came again, more insistently.

 

Bofur set down the little horse, carefully brushing the shavings that had fallen into his lap onto the table before they could scatter across the floor, and stood to answer the door.

 

He did not know who he was expecting, but it would have been fair to say Dís was far down on the list.

 

Bofur stood in shock for a moment.

 

She looked up at him, with eyes as blue as Thorin’s, and smiled so warmly he felt his eyes sting with tears.

 

“Thought you could make me wait, did you?” she teased gently, and he stumbled forward to pull her into his embrace.

 

*

 

Once Bofur had made them each some tea, and they had eaten a small meal of bread and cheese chosen from the extremely full larder (“Seven times!  Where could it possibly _go?_  They are all so tiny!”), they grew quiet, and Bofur began to shift a little under Dís’s scrutiny.

 

Finally she said, “Well, brother, it is as you had hoped.  You seem to be taking to life here in the Shire quite well.  You look very much as I remember you, which is to say not at all the way I hear you _have_ been looking for quite some time now.”

 

Bofur flushed but said nothing.

 

Dís reached across the kitchen table where they were sitting and caught up his hands, squeezing gently.

 

“That was not an admonishment, Bofur,” she said softly.  “Your grief or your happiness either one.”

 

Bofur said nothing.

 

“I would have expected grief,” she continued.  “You loved each other for many years, and I know well how much you loved my sons too.”

 

At that Bofur released her hands and pulled his chair closer to hers, leaning his forehead down to touch hers.

 

“It is not right that you should comfort me so,” he said gruffly.  “I am not the one who lost not only a brother but also my children.  What I have suffered - “ his voice broke a little but he pressed on - “what I have suffered cannot even compare to the pain you live with.  Please forgive my selfishness.”

 

Dís sighed.

 

“Why must we quantify our sorrow, brother?” she said quietly.  “We have both suffered a great deal, neither more nor less than the other.”

 

“But to lose your children - “ Bofur insisted.

 

Dís reached for his hands again and drew them up to place a soft kiss on his knuckles.

 

“My sons were mightily young, but they were warriors," she told him, squeezing his hands gently.  "Their whole lives they trained and worked and strove to become the best fighters they could be.  If I were to tell you I have made my peace with their deaths it would be a lie, but knowing they died protecting Thorin, protecting each other, doing that which they had both _chosen_ to do...it does give me a measure of solace.”

 

She placed her hands on either side of his face and lifted it up so she could look into his eyes.

 

“My family has always been warriors.” she said, very directly.  “And sometimes warriors die.  I knew that well when I let you all go.”

 

He looked at her, feeling her strong hands on his face as he watched a tear rolled down her cheek.  He reached out to wipe it away gently, and she sighed and touched her forehead to his.

 

“Sometimes warriors die,” she repeated quietly.

 

They sat with their heads pressed together, not speaking, for a long time.

 

*

 

By the time Bilbo had arrived home, Bofur was feeling less agitated.  He was more able to focus on how good it felt to see her again after so long and less on feeling as if he were dishonoring her brother’s memory by avoiding the Blue Mountains and finding the beginnings of his peace.

 

Bilbo and Dís were comfortable with each other right away, and unlike Bofur, Dís was happy to speak about the family she had lost, and hear any and all things Bilbo wanted to share about them.

 

Bofur had not yet found it easy to speak about Thorin, even to Bilbo; and he had been grateful Bilbo had either not asked, or had accepted “no” very gracefully if he ever _did_ ask something Bofur did not want to answer.  He had never pushed, but it was clear to Bofur now, seeing how excited he was to speak to Dís about Fíli and Kíli in particular, that Bilbo had done a fair share of his own grieving, and that Bofur had not made that easy with his reluctance to speak about their lost companions.

 

Troubled, he stood to clear the table, snorting a bit as Bilbo told Dís about the pony incident (“They were doing _what??”_ ).  He reached over to collect Bilbo’s empty tea cup and caught the hobbit’s eye.

 

Bilbo grinned up at him, that marvelously open grin, and Bofur felt the pangs of guilt lessen considerably.  It was almost as if Bilbo were able to look inside him and see what had been troubling him, and in one clear gesture had alleviated most of Bofur’s concern.

 

 _Of_ course _he would see and understand,_ a voice whispered.   _Has he not proven to be the most loyal of friends, willing to open his heart and his home to you and your guilt and pain, time and time again?  Of course he would know what was wrong.  Has he ever faltered before?_

 

And then, completely unbidden, his mind filled with an image of Thorin, his eyes dark with rage, a stranger’s eyes; hands wrapped around Bilbo’s throat as he lifted and twisted to hold him suspended by the neck over the edge of the cliff.

 

He heard his own shout of disbelief and fear and saw as those eyes then turned to fix on him.

 

_“Defend him and see yourself in his place.”_

 

His heart stuttered, and he closed his eyes tightly.

 

When he opened them, Thorin was gone, but Bilbo and Dís were both looking up at him concernedly - Dís surprised and Bilbo with a touch of sympathy.

 

“Bofur, are you - “ Dís began.

 

He nodded quickly, did his very best to smile and then turned with his hands full of dishes to begin the washing.

 

 _No,_ he answered the voice.   _Bilbo has never faltered._

 

*

 

Bilbo invited Dís to spend the night and she was quick to agree, making Bofur smile a bit.  He knew she had likely planned to spend the night at an inn, uncertain of her welcome at Bag  End, but clearly prefered Bilbo’s hospitality to that of strangers.  Besides, Bofur reasoned she would want the two of them to enjoy a longer visit.  He had not been blind to the looks she and Bilbo had thrown each other all night when they thought he would not notice.  She knew there was more he was not telling her.

 

Bilbo showed her to another guest room, one that he had converted into a library of sorts.  Dís waved off his apologies at the state of it impatiently with a firm, “Bilbo, I arrive unannounced and uninvited on your doorstep to find my law brother looking more peaceful and content than I had any reason to believe he would be.  That you would offer me a place to stay after taking such good care of him moves me deeply, and I simply will not hear any apologies that the room is ‘not fit’ for me!  I assure you, a pillow by the hearth is more than I deserve under such circumstances, so I thank you most sincerely for your care of me and my dear family, and that is the end of it!”

 

Bofur began to laugh at Bilbo’s dazed expression.

 

“And that is my dear Dís for you,” he said, almost grinning.  “What you see is very much what you get."

 

Dís smiled too.

 

“Apologies, Bilbo, if I’ve come across a bit...strongly,” she said more gently.  “You will find there is little need to fuss over me.  Besides, I have no patience for it.”

 

Grinning a bit more, Bofur added, “Remember what I said about dwarves sparing feelings?  Well, you’ll find none of that here, let me assure you.”

 

“Oi!”  Dís smacked his arm - hard, for she was a warrior too - and now all three of them began to laugh.

 

“Bofur, honestly!”  Bilbo chastised through his laughter, his eyes dancing.  “To speak of your law sister so!  One would think I have taught you no manners in your time here.”

 

At this Dís laughed even harder.

 

“Ah, Bilbo, many have tried and failed before you in _that_ regard, I can promise you that," she said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.  "One may as well cast diamonds before pigs at the trough for all the good it’s done in the past.” 

 

“Here now!” Bofur protested.  “Are you saying I am a _pig?_  Seems a tad excessive, if not downright hypocritical, for a dwarrowdam who once -”

 

“That’s enough of that now,” Dís interrupted quickly, still laughing.  “”We don’t want Bilbo to regret his hospitality with tales of past questionable behavior now, do we?”

 

“That's all well and good for _you,_ " Bofur huffed indignantly.  "You were not just compared to a _pig!”_

 

Bilbo had been watching the two of them warmly, and now said, “Dís, I must tell you.  Bofur has been content here, I know that is true, but I think it’s taken your visit today to make him honestly _happy_ again, and I for one am glad to see it.”

 

Dís eyed him shrewdly.

 

“It seems to me you have done quite a good deal to help Bofur’s heart,” she said quietly.  “and I agree - I too am glad to see it.”

 

They smiled at each other, and then Dís turned to look knowingly at Bofur.  He flushed and looked away.

 

Silence fell over them for a moment, and then Dís said, “Well, good night to you both.  Bilbo, I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality and for...well, _everything_ you have done.  My heart feels easier than it has in a long time.”

 

Bilbo smiled at her and reached out to pat her elbow softly.

 

“I always tell Bofur - sometimes it can help to talk about them, share your memories a bit, eh?  Makes them feel a little closer.”

 

A lump rose in Bofur’s throat and he swallowed it quickly, feeling it catch as his eyes began to sting.  

 

He glanced over to see Dís looking at him.

 

“It does indeed,” she said softly, a small smile on her face.  “But that is not the only reason my heart is easier tonight.”

 

The tears began to spill down Bofur’s cheeks as she reached over to embrace him.

 

“It’s all right,” she whispered in his ear.  “Truly.”

 

He squeezed her more tightly, not trusting his voice.

 

She let go of him, gently and slowly, and smiled up at him.

 

“Good night, both of you.  And thank you again, Bilbo.” she said, turning to smile at him as well.

 

“Good night, Dís,” Bilbo said.  “Sleep well.”

 

“You too,” was her response and then she shut the door quietly, leaving Bilbo and Bofur alone in the hall together.

 

Bofur sighed and wiped his tears with the back of his hand, making Bilbo chuckle.

 

“No longer so quick to tear off your pocket then, hmm?  Perhaps we shall make a hobbit of you yet.”

 

Bofur nodded silently, and could not even bring himself to smile when Bilbo offered him a handkerchief.

 

Bilbo gestured with his head toward to the kitchen and Bofur followed him back out, away from the bedrooms.

 

The kitchen was cool without the stove fire burning, and there was no light except the white glow of the moon through the window.

 

Bilbo took a small breath, then hesitated.  After a moment he asked quietly, “Are you all right?  Is there anything I can do?  Would you like to talk at all, or would you be more comfortable retiring for the evening?  I imagine it’s been quite a trying day for you.”

 

Humming in agreement, Bofur looked down at Bilbo.

 

His face was open and concerned, the moonlight making his skin appear as white as marble, and his eyes dark and almost bottomless.  They were eyes one could almost fall into, and they were so full of kindness and gentle warmth that Bofur longed to do just that.

 

He looked away again, feeling horribly confused, and tired; so, so tired.

 

“It has been a long day,” he said hoarsely, “although one filled with some much needed joy.   I have missed her terribly.  T'is very good to see her.”

 

Bilbo hesitated again.

 

“May I ask -” and then he stopped himself.

 

Bofur waited, almost wanting him to ask but not sure how to answer if he did.

 

 _How to explain,_ he thought, _that I did not know how to tell her of Thorin’s madness, and violence...of his heart turning cold so quickly, and Erebor leaving no room for anything else?  How to explain that I think she knew, that she feared that happening before we even left, and that she likely did not wish to speak to me either?  There was so much we had not been honest with each other about...and then to have her sons mixed up in the middle of it all...how does one broach such a horror?_

 

Finally Bilbo simply patted his arm gently, in a gesture Bofur was coming to recognize as the hobbit’s way of expressing great feelings he was not able to put into words, and said quietly, “Perhaps another time.  Goodnight, Bofur.  It is really so wonderful to see you this way.  It reminds me - “  He stopped again, this time looking self-conscious.

 

“Reminds you of what?” Bofur asked softly.

 

“Of the way you were when we first met,” Bilbo answered, his voice quiet and low..  “When we were all starting out, and Erebor was half a world away, and you were so in love and so cheerful.  Before...well, before things began to change.”

 

He flushed deeply, and looked away.

 

 _Oh, Bilbo,_ thought Bofur.   _If you only knew how early that began to happen you would likely not believe it.  I don’t think Thorin was truly the dwarf I knew and loved from the moment he set foot in your home._

 

He sighed and leaned against the kitchen wall.

 

“Aye, it feels good to laugh like this again,” he said honestly.  “And Dís is right, you do not give yourself enough credit for it.  I was a dark and unhappy soul when we met in Bree.  It is thanks to you that she found me here so much lighter and contented.   You have my gratitude.”

 

Bilbo looked back at him, and his hesitant smile all but reached into Bofur’s chest and squeezed his heart.

 

“There is no need to thank me for doing what any friend would,” Bilbo said.  “It has been my pleasure."  His eyes narrowed a bit.  "Though I do hope this is not your roundabout way of telling me you are leaving soon!”

 

Bofur smiled down at Bilbo, feeling his heart swell as Bilbo’s smile grew wider in response.

 

“Fear not, Master Baggins,” he said lightly, belying his inner turmoil.  “You are stuck with me for a while longer yet.”

 

“Good,” said Bilbo, nodding his head once.  “Very good.”

 

They stood there in the kitchen, smiling at each other, until Bilbo cleared his throat and said, “Well, goodnight then Bofur.  I believe I shall turn in.”

 

“Goodnight, Bilbo,” answered Bofur quietly.  “Thank you for being so kind to Dís.  She is like family to me.”

 

“Which means she is like family to me as well,” Bilbo assured him.  “She is as welcome here as you are.”

 

Bofur nodded, and after one more pat on his arm, Bilbo turned and made his way down the darkened hallway to his bedroom.

 

Bofur pulled up a chair and sat alone in the kitchen for a long, long time.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and Dís have a hard conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - this specific chapter very briefly mentions miscarriages, right in the beginning. 
> 
> It's not necessary for the plot to read that bit so if you choose to skip, you can pick up right after the first little break, noted with a •.

Dís stayed with them for a month..

 

Bilbo seemed to truly blossom with two guests to now care for, and Bag End bustled from morning till night as he cooked and baked and gardened and fussed; and the dwarves were happy to let him do so.

 

Bofur continued work on the baby gift he’d been crafting the day Dís had appeared and not a moment too soon.  Within days of her arrival in the Shire word reached them that Primula had given birth to a boy they had named Frodo.

 

All three of the current residents of Bag End shared a toast that night, celebrating the news.

 

“To Frodo,” Dís said, lifting her glass.  “May his life and his heart always be full of love and laughter, family and friends, and may an adventure or two find their way to him as well.”

 

“Here, here!” cheered Bilbo, and raised his glass as well.

 

“To Frodo!” he said.  “May he be the first of many!”

 

“Of many?”  Dís asked, surprised.  “How many?”

 

“Well, my own mother was one of twelve,” Bilbo said.

 

_“Twelve!”_ Dis said incredulously.

 

“I suppose eight or nine is more the average,” Bilbo continued.  “And then of course there are a handful of families like mine.  I was the only child for my parents, although I am sure that had not been the original intention.  I think my mother was unable to have more.”

 

“Ah,” said Dís sympathetically.  “Such things are very common among our people.  It can be absolutely devastating.”

 

Bilbo shrugged.  “I would never mean to make light of any pain she may have gone through but they were both always so happy and cheerful with me I never knew that anything was wrong.  Maybe it wasn’t.”

 

“Oh, if one desires more children than your body is willing to bear that is never an easy truth,” Dís said gently.  “That she kept it from you so successfully speaks highly to her skill as a mother and her great love for you.  She did not want you to feel any of the burden of grief you could not possibly hope to alleviate.”

 

Bilbo was quiet for a moment, looking at his fingers curled around his mug.  “You speak as if you know,” he said quietly.

 

“Aye,” she said. “I do.”

 

Bofur shifted a bit, no stranger to this story but deeply surprised she was willing to share it with Bilbo so soon after meeting him.

 

“After Kíli was born,” she began slowly,  “Víli and I wanted another.  I think we both had visions of a daughter.”

 

Bofur smiled at that.  Thorin too had been entranced by the thought of a tiny Dís to love and spoil.

 

“But it was not to be,” she continued.  “After I lost two babes we were told to cease trying, that carrying another child could kill me.  And despite being blessed with two strong, healthy, beautiful sons, a part of me was so stunned and devastated that I could not have everything that I wanted I thought I might never pull myself out of it again.”

 

“Oh, Dís,” Bilbo murmured, “what a terrible thing.  I am so dreadfully sorry.”

 

Bofur watched, concerned, as Dís struggled for a moment against her tears, knowing she disliked weeping even more than she disliked being fussed over.

 

“It has always seemed selfish to me, feeling that way,” she continued in a low voice.  “There are many among us who long for even _one_ child, and to have two and yet mourn there could be no others...well, trust me when I tell you there are precious few with whom I have shared my pain.  Among dwarves, it could be considered almost a form of foolish greed.”

 

Again, Bofur was helpless against the image of Thorin that rose up in his mind - not of the strong, quiet lover he had known, but of the arrogant, furious tyrant he had become near the end.

 

_Wanting a babe does not make one greedy,_ he thought, weary and sad to his core.   _Wanting to horde and punish and go against one’s word,_ that _makes one greedy._

Bilbo had leaned over to take Dís's hand and was rubbing his thumb against the back of it soothingly.

 

“I had never heard it was so difficult for dwarrow to bear children,” he said after a moment.  “I was fortunate to hear so much about Bombur’s children I suppose I assumed it was much for you as it is for hobbits in this regard.”

 

Bofur finally spoke up.

 

“Bombur and Nirra are quite unusual,” he said gently, glancing over at Dís.  “Every once in a great while you will hear of such a thing but for the most part dwarrow families are small, three children at the most.  Bearing them takes a heavy toll on our dwarrowdams - it is usually not considered safe to carry more than that.”

 

“Ah,” said Bilbo.

 

Dís smiled at Bilbo, and then looked over at Bofur, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

 

“Let us not talk of such sad things,” she said briskly.  “We have Bilbo’s new cousin to celebrate!  Besides, any daughter we might have had would have been so terribly spoiled by this one -” she gestured to Bofur” - and my brother I shudder to think what kind of a monster she would have turned out to be.”

 

They all laughed a little at that, and then Dís continued, “And Mahal knows she likely would have followed you on your quest and who know what sort of trouble she and my sons would have gotten you all into?”

 

“Perhaps a third set of eyes would have been helpful in all pony-related matters,” drawled Bofur and they all laughed again.

 

Dís raised her glass again and said, “To Kíli and Fíli, the children I was so fortunate to be blessed with.  May your welcome in the Halls have been warm and may you know -” and her voice broke - “may you know how proud I am of you both, and how much I miss you each and every day.”

 

“To Kíli and Fíli,” said Bilbo.  “May you find plenty of trouble to get into and may someone smarter than you always be there to get you out of it.”

 

The two of them lifted their glasses to drink but stopped when Bofur spoke.

 

“To Kíli and Fíli,” he said quietly.  “May the two of you take care of each other and Thorin until we are all together again.”

 

Dís and Bilbo exchanged another look that Bofur pretended not to see.

 

They all drank, and talked of merrier things for the rest of the night.

 

*

 

A few nights before Dís left, she and Bofur finally spoke of the quest.

 

Bofur had known it was coming - Bilbo had left earlier that day to go see Frodo for the first time, offering to take Bofur's gift with him.

 

"I know you likely want to see him too,” he'd said, “but this way you and Dís can spend a little time together alone, without me hovering over both of you and putting my nose in where it's not always needed."

 

He'd waved off Bofur's protest with a firm, “Well, you know what I mean.  You're family, and family should have some time to themselves, yes?  And this is far from my last trip to see Frodo, fear not!  He will be just as precious in a few weeks' time."

 

Bofur had nodded and smiled, and thanked Bilbo, but had grown anxious when he realized the hobbit intended to be gone until well into the next day.

 

"It feels as if we are pushing you out of your own home," Bofur had protested.  "Truly, there is nothing Dís and I have to discuss that is so very private you must cross the Shire and stay away all day rather than hear it."

 

Bilbo had laughed, and said, "Don't be silly!  I know that.  But I imagine it has been some time since Drogo and Primula have had any time to themselves, so I shall stay and lend a hand for the night.  And if they choose to spend their time doing more than just sleeping, well, that's their business now, isn't it?"

 

They'd both laughed at that.

 

Bilbo had gone so far as to make dinner for them before he'd left; and as he and Dís enjoyed the cold roast chicken and green beans, not to mention the custard the hobbit had also made for dessert.  Bofur wondered if it had all been done purposefully to ease what the three of them knew would be a difficult conversation.

 

After dinner was eaten and the kitchen cleaned up, they both ventured out into the garden to enjoy a pipe.

 

They smoked in silence for a while until Dís said, "Bilbo is quite correct.  This Old Toby is far superior to the leaf we smoke in Ered Luin."

 

Bofur snorted.  "Just don't tell him that!  I've spent most of my time here pretending to dislike it because I don't know that I could stand his glee at being right about it.  His head might swell to three times the size."

 

Dís laughed and said, "I think you are being unfair, brother.  Bilbo seems very graceful in all things concerning manners, which I imagine would also make him a graceful winner."

 

Sighing as he tapped out the pipe and shook his head in mock resignation, Bofur said, "Ah, if only you knew.  He may appear that way at first, but he is ruthless when proven right about something.  Would make him a right terror to live with."

 

Dís glanced his way thoughtfully.

 

"And we wouldn't want that now, would we?" she asked gently.

 

Bofur felt his face heat up.  He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

 

He looked down at the hand he suddenly felt on his knee and then up into Dís's eyes; and he saw no judgment there, only acceptance.

 

He gave a shuddering sigh and rubbed his face with his hand.

 

"Dís, I -" he began, but she shook her head.

 

"Bofur, there is no question in my mind or my heart that you loved Thorin with all you were and all you had," she said.  "And I must tell you truly - that love is why I worried more for you on your quest than I did for my sons or my brother."

 

Bofur's mouth snapped shut.

 

She nodded.  "I knew well what could happen to any of you, and particularly to my kin.  I knew they would be at the forefront of any fighting and it was not a far step to think if there were a price on Thorin's head, there would likely be one on Fíli and Kíli's too.  It is one of the reasons I agreed to let them go.  Azog had to be stopped, and who better to do that than our finest warriors?  And if they fell, I knew they would fall defending their kin and comrades, and our ancestral home.

 

“Does such nobility of purpose warm my heart each night?  Of course not.  I am a mother, and I feel their loss so keenly it makes my heart burn, with grief as well as with anger - towards myself for agreeing to let them leave, towards Thorin for not protecting them better - “

 

“Towards me,” Bofur whispered.

 

She reached over to cup his face with her hand.

 

“Never towards you,” she said gently.   _“Never_ towards you.  Bofur, you are the most loyal, steadfast dwarf I know but you are no warrior.  How then are you to protect dwarves who had been trained to fight almost as long as they were able to walk?  Do you think I would prefer it if _none_ of you had lived?”

 

Bofur felt shame coil in his belly and rise up his throat.  “You make it sound as if I were but dead weight to be dragged along.  Watch out for the king’s lover!  He’s not much use, unless you are drinking and want a laugh, and he certainly can’t fight worth orc shit but he’s here to fuck the king and keep him happy, may as well make the best of it.”

 

He felt the sting of Dís’s slap on his face before he had even seen her hand move.

 

His rubbed his cheek and he felt his eyes widen as he looked at her, stunned.

 

“That will be enough of that,” she said hoarsely.  “I will never allow you to speak of yourself in such a way.  Thorin loved you beyond all reason, and you were as much a father figure to my boys as he was.  And I have always called you brother, always valued your wit, your way of finding joy in any circumstance; and am so grateful to you for making Thorin smile in a way I was sure he never would again.  I will not have you calling yourself such things.”

 

Bofur squeezed his eyes shut but was not able to stem the flow of his tears.

 

“You yourself said I was no warrior - ” he began.

 

“And you took insult at that?" she asked incredulously.  "I’m sorry if the years since we have last seen each other have thinned your skin to the point where the truth is so uncomfortable but brother - _you are no warrior!_  And we were all the happier for it!  You are Bofur, and Bofur is a miner and a toymaker and a laugher and a joy-bringer and someone who will be your fast friend after a single evening, who will remember _everything_ you have ever told him and will seek you out to ask what he can do to help."  She leaned toward him a bit and grasped his shoulder, looking him right in the eye.  "It takes dwarves of all stripes to make up the world we live in, brother-mine.  Surely you know that as well as I do!  Why does it trouble you so to recognize your limitations as well as your skills?  Is Ori a warrior?  Óin?  Your own brother?  No, and there was a place and a need for each of them.  A loyal heart, that was the necessity, and that you have always had in abundance.”

 

“A loyal heart was not enough to save their lives!” Bofur all but shouted.  “What good is a loyal heart and a fast friend and a...a _bringer of joy_ against an army of orcs?  What was needed I could not be, and they died because of it!”

 

Dís’s voice softened but her manner intensified.

 

“If you believe you alone held the key to their survival you are as foolish as you are self-centered," she said strongly, squeezing his shoulder.  "How can you say they died because of you?  They died because there were too many orcs!  They died because they were overrun, and because the orc that slew my grandfather and my brother had sworn to kill off all of the line of Durin. They fought as hard and as valiantly as they could but in the end they were killed.  And like it or not there was nothing you could have done differently to change that. _Nothing.”_

 

Bofur’s tears came faster, and his breath began to hitch as he groaned and buried his face in his hands.

 

“I cannot live with that,” he gasped, filled with despair.  “I cannot live thinking I failed them, nor can I live knowing there was nothing I could have done!  How, then, _how…_ ”  He moaned miserably and could not continue through his weeping.

 

Dís’s strong arms pulled him close and gently patted his back, holding him while he sobbed.

 

“Life is to be lived in the middle, brother," she said softly, her voice warm and calming.  "It is neither black nor white but all the hues and colors in-between.  That is something Thorin never understood, but something I thought you _did._  Do not let his single-mindedness rob you of any part of your life to come.”

 

They sat in the garden embracing for a while, Dís rocking them back and forth a bit as she hummed softly.

 

Bofur’s weeping began to slow a bit as he relaxed further into her, holding her more tightly, his mind racing with all she had said.

 

“You do not blame me,” he whispered disbelievingly.

 

“No,” she answered quietly.  “I never have.  Did I not tell you that in my letter?”

 

Wiping his eyes, Bofur pushed back and sat up a bit, trying to compose himself.

 

“Aye, you did,” he said finally.  “And then you never wrote again.  Never told me you were no longer planning to come to Erebor.”

 

Dís sighed.

 

“You’re right,” she admitted.  “I was afraid to, I think.”

 

“Why afraid?”

 

She took a long moment to consider.  “When we would talk about settling in Erebor again," she said haltingly, "after the dragon had been defeated and the Arkenstone found, it was always with the understanding that we would be doing it as a family.  I was not so naive I did not know the possible consequences, but to consider potential outcomes and then to be actually confronted with almost very worst of them...well, they are very different things indeed.”

 

He nodded slowly, not speaking.

 

“I knew it was very possible some of you would fall - more than possible, even _likely,_ given what you were attempting.  But to lose not only my brother but both of my dear sons…”

 

Her head lowered, and Bofur reached out to take her hand gently.

 

“You could not come to a place of such death,” he said quietly.  “No matter how much you once loved it.  How could it be home with them gone?”

 

She nodded silently, her eyes still cast down.

 

He gave a shuddering sigh and then said, “I am a poor substitute for your family, Dís.  I am so sorry.  A poor, poor substitute.”

 

She shook her head as she she looked up and he saw the tears staining her face, and the wetness in her beard and the corner of her mouth.

 

“That is the _last_ thing I would ever want you to think,” she said firmly, her voice thick with emotion.  "You are worth enduring much for, Bofur.  I was simply not strong enough to do so, and that shamed me.  You deserve far better.”

 

The absolution was staggering, and profoundly moving.  He reached out and drew her in to him - his hands shaking, his forehead pressed to hers.

 

“Oh, Dís,” he whispered, “no one deserves better than you.  Thank you.  Thank you for all you have shared with me tonight.  It...it has soothed my soul tremendously.”

 

“You are a good dwarf,” she responded quietly.  “Thorin was lucky to have you.”

 

They sat, still and quiet in the night air, for a long while.

 

*

 

After a time they ventured back inside for a cup of tea.

 

As they sat sipping, Dís said, “I would know what happened on your quest, why you look so haunted.  I would have the truth of the matter.”

 

So Bofur told her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - we start to learn about the quest through Bofur's pov...so no more italics for flashbacks! They'll be longer and I hope it will be pretty clear what is happening when and we won't need them...key word being "hope"...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur begins to recall the journey to Erebor and the battle.

As his inner voice had warned, Bag End was only the beginning.

 

As the journey continued, the Thorin he had known, the one he had fallen in love with from the very first time he’d caught sight of him, began to change.

 

Just a bit in the beginning, in such tiny ways that Bofur thought he was merely imagining it at first.  Where they had in the past always sat with some part of their bodies touching, now Thorin would move away - just slightly, but enough so that the leg that had been pressing on his was gone, just out of reach; or the hand that would always come up to rest on his back or his knee or his elbow no longer did any of those things.

 

Where Thorin had once always looked first to him before any others, sought him out in any group, made sure they could always see each other - now he was frequently treated as any other.  Thorin’s eyes slid right over him as many times as they warmed at the sight of him.

 

Perhaps all these things would not have been so terrible, Bofur reasoned later, if it were not for what sprang up in the place of all these missed intimacies.

 

If it were not for the hints of coldness, of indifference - as if his lover were sometimes replaced by someone else entirely - a changeling, who _looked_ like Thorin but was in fact only a poor imitation of him; and that false Thorin was standing in for his lover more and more often each day.

 

The thought that had made it hard for Bofur to sleep sometimes was this:  what if this new Thorin had actually been the _real_  Thorin all along; and the kind, loving, albeit sometimes arrogant dwarf he’d thought he’d known the false one?  What if Thorin were becoming the dwarf he was always meant to be - the one he _would_ have become if Erebor had never fallen - the king of the greatest kingdom of Middle Earth, someone of such high status and importance that he would never look twice at a miner and a toymaker?

 

If the dwarf he loved were a lie, then where did that leave him?  Because it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was no room for him in this new Thorin’s heart.

 

There was only room for Erebor and the Arkenstone and perhaps not even in that order.

 

When Thorin almost killed Bilbo in a rage over the theft of the Arkenstone, Bofur alone raised his voice to stop him.  He too was angry the hobbit would do such a thing, would treat with enemies who asked with armies because they did not trust the word of a dwarf; but he did not want to see Thorin kill him, not while there was still a chance an all-out war might be avoided by what Bilbo had done.

 

He was angry, because Thorin was his king, but he understood why the hobbit had done it.

 

Never in a thousand lifetimes, not even with the cold distance he knew was now between them, would he have ever thought Thorin would try to kill him too.

 

“Defend him and see yourself in his place.”

 

It was as if time stopped for a heartbeat.  

 

He heard Kíli gasp and say, “Uncle!  What are you - “ before Fíli clapped a hand over his mouth.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dwalin and Balin exchange a look with each other, and Dori pull both Ori and Nori behind him slightly.

 

And through it all, Thorin still held Bilbo over the cliff’s edge, his eyes hard as flint and so black they looked utterly mad.

 

Bofur saw Bilbo’s terrified eyes, his hands scraping at Thorin’s, trying to loosen his grip so he could breathe but still clinging onto the dwarf’s wrists so he would not fall.

 

Bofur slowly held out both of his hands, palms up, towards Thorin.

 

“ _Ghivashel_ , please," he said steadily.  “Do not do this.  Let him down and then banish him if you wish but do not do this.”

 

Thorin’s hands tightened and Bilbo’s face began to grow red.

 

“He _betrayed_ us!” he roared.  “He dared give the Arkenstone to Men!  The jewel of my grandfather, that which he was brought here to find for _me!”_

 

“Thorin,” Bofur said as calmly as he could in the face of such blistering fury.  “He did what he thought was right.  I am angry as well and I believe he should face punishment for his crime but this... _âzyungâl_ , please, not _this._  Let him go.”

 

Thorin’s expression darkened even further and for the first time Bofur felt a drop of real fear in his belly.

 

“And why are you so quick to stand for him?”  he asked, slowly and deliberately.  “Everyone else is silent and yet you defend him.  Why is that, _lover?”_  He made the word sound like biting on nails.  “Do you protect him because you stand with him?”

 

He took a step toward where the Company cowered and quick as a flash, he dropped Bilbo on the ground and drew his sword on Bofur, the tip at his throat.

 

Bofur swallowed, his back pressed against cold, unyielding stone; and felt a cool bead of blood run down his neck as the sword pricked his flesh.

 

His awareness narrowed to only two things - Thorin's face, and the pressure of the sword.  Only dimly did he hear Bilbo coughing and gasping, and Balin gently saying, "Thorin, laddie - please, just...ease up a bit.  There's no need to hurt anyone.”

 

Even Kíli sobbing and shouting felt as if it were happening far away.

 

He looked into Thorin's eyes, searching desperately for even a tiny hint of the dwarf he knew, and was terrified to see that at long last the transformation was complete.

 

There was none of his Thorin left.

 

For a moment he closed his eyes, and wished for Thorin to just kill him, now and quickly.  Better that than a lifetime of longing for something he would never have again.

 

It was only the thought of what would happen to Thorin if he one day realized he'd killed his One in cold blood that made him straighten his back and open his eyes.

 

“If ever you loved me,” he whispered, looking Thorin in the eye, “you will not do this.  Lower your sword, and I will leave here.  I will not -” his voice trembled but he held firm.  “I will not stay where my loyalty to my King and my One are in doubt.”

 

Something flickered in Thorin’s eyes.

 

Out of the corner of his eye Bofur saw Dwalin coiling himself up to spring, ready to grab Thorin’s arm if it looked as if he might not lower it.

 

Bofur doubted Dwalin would be fast enough if it came to that.  He doubted any of them would be.

 

“Thorin,” Balin said again, very softly.

 

The point of the sword relaxed away from his throat as Thorin let his arm down slowly, his eyes locked with Bofur’s.

 

“Consider this a warning,” Thorin said ominously.  “Question me again, and see if you receive a second one.”

 

Hot, heavy tears sprang up in Bofur’s eyes, and he was left breathless by the wave of emotion that crashed over him at Thorin’s words.  His knees felt weak, and he pressed his hands against the stone behind him to help him keep his footing.

 

_Our lives are so long compared to Men and Hobbits,_ he thought.   _So many years, and yet everything you have ever known can be lost in the blink of an eye._

 

He heard a roaring in his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of his tears.

 

And in the back of all that, he heard Thorin say, “Now, get him, get them both, out of my sight.”

 

*

 

When the battle came, Bofur and Bilbo did not stand with the rest of the Company.  They fought instead with the Men and the Dwarves of the Iron Hills, Dáin’s dwarves.  Even the approach of the Orcs and the tentative alliance of Dwarves, Men and Elves had not been enough to cool Thorin’s anger against them.  

 

They remained banished from Erebor.

 

Throughout the battle, Bofur fought in vain to reach Thorin’s side, trying to keep him in sight at all times; to make sure he and the lads were as safe as they could be, in the midst of such carnage and chaos.

 

He was eventually forced to focus on his own survival for a time, wielding his mattock as best he could against the enemy, feeling almost powerless as two or three seemed to spring up for every one he managed to fell.

 

When he saw Thorin again, it was too late.

 

*

 

Fíli was dead, Kíli lay dying and Thorin…

 

Bofur thought he would go mad when he saw Thorin.

 

His left ear had been torn clean off, and his left shoulder and left side of his neck and chest were horribly mangled.  He had been mauled by something, presumably a warg, and had not been as lucky as he had been the first time.  This time the warg had not been toying with him.

 

This time, it had tried to devour him.

 

His chest rose and fell but too quickly, too shallowly.  He did not appear to be conscious, which Bofur took as the mercy it was when Óin looked up from where he'd been laboring over Kíli, caught Bofur's eye and shook his head.

 

_In the name of the Seven Fathers,_ Bofur thoughts despairingly.   _Not both of them.  Oh, please.  Not both._

 

He stumbled over and fell to his knees in front of Kíli, reaching frantically for his hand, praying there had been a mistake; that he had misunderstood Óin, that there was still a chance, still time for Mahal to take it back, take it all back.

 

“Sweet boy,” he whispered.  “Sweet, sweet boy, can you hear me?”

 

Kíli moaned and his eyes cracked open.  They were shot through with red and the left was gazing off to the side, unseeing.  Bofur gasped at the sight and Kíli’s other eye found him.

 

“Oh, Uncle,” he sighed.  “Thank Mahal you’re all right.”

 

Bofur’s eyes filled with tears and he blinked them away, determined not to weep in front of his dying boy.

 

“It’s Bofur, lad,” he whispered back, caressing Kíli’s cheek and wiping the bloodied hair out of his eyes.  “Only Bofur.”

 

Kíli smiled and his eyes drifted shut again.

 

“Know who you are,” he whispered as he squeezed Bofur’s hand.

 

Humming softly, Bofur leaned over and kissed him gently on his temple.

 

“Such a brave dwarf you are,” he told Kíli quietly.  “Strong and brave.  Your mother and uncle - “  He cut off and swallowed hard.  “They would be so very proud of you. _I_ am so very proud of you,” he finished hoarsely.

 

Kíli sighed and then asked the question Bofur had been dreading.

 

“Fíli…is he…?”

 

Bofur struggled mightily but could not keep the sob from his voice any longer.

 

“I’m so sorry, my little light,” he gritted out.  “So terribly sorry.”

 

Kíli sighed again and opened his eyes a little.

 

“And Thorin?” he whispered.  “Does Thorin live?”

 

Bofur nodded.

 

“He does, lad.  He does indeed, thanks to you and your brother.”  He kissed Kíli’s temple again and tasted blood.  “And the battle is over.  We have won.”  The words were like ash in his mouth.

 

A small smile warmed Kíli’s face and then he asked, “Tauriel?  Where is - “

 

Bofur lay his hand on Kíli’s cheek, very gently.

 

“I do not know, sweet one.  But I am certain she is searching for you.  Do you want - “

 

Kíli gripped his hand with surprising strength.

 

“Don’t leave,” he whispered.  “Please.  I...I do not wish to be alone when it comes.”

 

Bofur squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“Oh, Kíli,” he murmured.  “My sweet, brave boy.  I would never leave you.”

 

He could see Kíli’s mouth moving but his words had grown so faint Bofur needed to lean closer to him to hear.

“...tell her - “

 

“Anything,” said Bofur.

 

“Tell her…” Kíli shuddered, and Bofur pressed his lips to their clasped hands.  “No.  You...you know what to tell her.”

 

His eyes opened again, one drifting and one looking directly at him.

 

“Oh, Bofur,” he whispered.  “It is not...I am - ohh, still...”

 

His words stopped and Bofur drew back and saw his eyes glaze over and he wept to see the sadness in them.

 

His hand was still warm, but it was so limp, almost boneless; and it left no doubt as to the truth of the matter.

 

Bofur keened, and pulled Kíli up into his embrace, his other hand reaching out for Fíli's already stiffening body.

 

_How could such a thing happen?_ he thought wildly.   _Is there no mercy anywhere in this world?  What need have they in the Halls for both these children?_

 

He heard a quiet moan and looked up.

 

Nori stood over him, his eyes on Fíli.  Kneeling slowly, he reached out to smooth the elder prince's braids gently, his fingers shaking.

 

Bofur saw the ring Fíli had given him on his left hand, glinting in the fading light of that wretched day.

 

He looked away, unwilling to let go of Fíli’s hand but wanting to offer Nori some measure of privacy in his grief, and watched as two of Dáin's dwarves lifted Thorin under Óin's watchful eye and carried him away to the healing tents.

 

He buried his face in Kíli's hair, his stomach churning at the stench of blood and dirt.  

 

He only held the young dwarf more tightly, unable to find the words to say goodbye to these sons of his heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know - this and the next chapter function rather like a "greatest hits" of Bofur's memories of the quest. There will be more details filled in later in the story...I'm not sure why it played out like that as I wrote it all, but it did and I went with it. Join me, won't you? *smiles beguilingly*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Bofur's story to Dís.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Bifur speaks, it is safe to assume he is speaking Khuzdul. I figured we already had far too much italicizing going on in this story...

The next few hours were torturous, made more so by Thorin’s brief turn for the better.

 

The rally was entirely unexpected, surprising even the elven healers whom Bofur gratefully allowed in to aid Óin.  Thorin’s breathing evened out and deepened, and the creases between his eyes softened.  He seemed more peaceful, and Óin confided in Bofur that if they could keep the infection at bay for the next couple of days he might actually survive his wounds.

 

Azog and Bolg were both dead.  Thorin had been able to finish them both off before he had been blindsided by Azog’s warg.

 

According to Ori, who had seen it all happen, Azog had attacked Fíli first, and Kíli had raced to his defense.  When Bolg had then entered the fray things had gone badly for both the boys and it had only been the intervention of Tauriel that had saved Kíli from being killed sooner.

 

Fíli had not been so fortunate.

 

Thorin had been too far away to help them sooner but his horror and fury at the fate of his nephews had been more than enough to doom the Pale Orc and his son.

 

And then the White Warg had attacked Thorin.

 

It had taken Dwalin and Dori both to fend it off, and in the end it had been too late.  The flesh on Thorin’s entire left side had been almost flayed off, protected only in patches by his ragged armour.  It seemed impossible he would live...and then suddenly things weren’t so dire.   The elves managed to stitch him up quickly and as cleanly as possible, and then it became a waiting game.

 

So Bofur had waited.

 

The bodies of Kíli and Fíli were brought to Thorin’s tent for a time, to keep them safe and out of the elements while their tomb within Erebor was quickly readied.  Bofur had never seen anything as heartbreaking as the still, silent bodies of his boys, peaceful and quiet in a way they had never been in life.  It was completely unnatural, but Bofur took a small bit of comfort from their proximity.  As difficult as it was to believe they were gone it would have been even harder to not know precisely where they were, and so they stayed to help him keep vigil over their uncle.

 

Tauriel visited but once, and her haggard appearance was the first thing to pierce through Bofur’s veil of grief.  She looked haunted, and so pale she was almost translucent.  She sat for several hours by Kíli’s side, holding his hand and brushing the hair off his face, over and over.  He watched her but did not speak, growing more alarmed as she remained fixed on Kíi’s corpse, murmuring to it in Sindarin; and when at last she rose to depart and caught his eye, her expression drove him to finally move from his place by Thorin’s side to embrace her tightly.

 

She hugged him back after a moment, and then turned without speaking and left.

 

*

 

Nori, by contrast, spent a great deal of time in the tent.

 

He sat next to Fíli, clasping their hands together, and did not speak.  His head was always lowered and the only time he ate was when Ori would bring him something.

 

Ori brought food for Bofur as well, once he saw Bofur was not leaving Thorin’s side.

 

Even though Nori was silent, Bofur took solace in his presence.  He had not been blind to what had been between his law-nephew and the thief, although he had never quite known what to think of it.  Nori’s reputation was far from clean, but Bofur put little stock in such things, preferring to judge based on what he could see for himself, and in that regard he had few complaints.  Nori had proven himself to be brave and quick and thoroughly devoted to Fíli, albeit in a very quiet way, when he thought no one was looking.

 

Before things between them had grown so foul they no longer spoke, Bofur had asked Thorin what he thought about his heir’s clear and obvious affection for Ered Luin’s most notorious thief.

 

His heart clenched now to remember Thorin’s words, for it had been one of the last conversations he could recall that felt as if it were with the Thorin he knew and loved so desperately.  One of the last that had felt real.

 

“We have raised him to know his mind and his heart,” Thorin had said, “and tried to teach him to listen to both.  I suppose it would be the very height of hypocrisy if I were to say now I did not trust him enough to decide such a thing for himself.”

 

Bofur had laughed.

 

“Well,” he’d said.  “I would not have thought you’d be so even-tempered at the thought of Fíli falling not only for a ‘Ri, but for this one in particular.  Dwalin’s head must be ready to burst like an overly-ripe melon!”

 

They’d both laughed at that, and then Thorin had said, “If it were not this, it would be something else.  Dwalin is not happy unless there is something to glower about.”  And then his gaze, which had been drifting about, focused on Bofur; and Bofur had felt that achingly familiar flutter in his heart, a flutter he'd had less and less cause to feel of late.  “But tell me truthfully, does it trouble _you?_  What is happening between them?”

 

Smiling, Bofur had said, “Not at all, but then again he’s not my nephew.”

 

And then Thorin had smiled back at him, softly and with so much love.

 

“He is indeed your nephew,” Thorin had corrected warmly.  “There is no getting out of it now, just because he’s chosen to love as he has.  He is _our_ nephew, my own, and soon he may be married to a criminal.  What say you to that?”

 

With a laugh, Bofur had replied, “I say what can you expect when his uncle loves a miner?  The line of Durin clearly lacks in taste.”

 

And oh, how it hurt his very soul to remember what had happened next.

 

Thorin had reached out to cup his cheek and said, “If Fíli’s tastes have led him to such a One as I have found, then he has been blessed indeed.”

 

*

 

On the second morning, Thorin began to burn with fever, and the mood of the healers changed abruptly from cautious optimism to sober resignation.  

 

Bofur willed himself to be strong, for who could be sure what might yet happen?

 

And then he saw Óin’s face, and he knew.

 

*

 

Perhaps the hardest blow of all was seeing _his_ Thorin return, finally, only to die in his arms.

 

*

 

Afterwards, at the funeral for all three of the Durins, Nori stood at his side, eyes dry and bleak, his head bowed low.  Tauriel had come as well, but stayed to herself, apart from everyone else.  Bifur and Bombur stood a bit behind him, Bifur's hand resting on Bofur’s shoulder.  It was comforting but oddly galling too.  Already there were whispers wherever he walked, and so many faces that were strange to him, even if they seemed to know who he was.  Already he was recognized and defined by Thorin’s death, and stories of Thorin’s greed and madness were beginning to spread.

 

It broke Bofur’s heart even further to think that was how Thorin was being remembered - full of blind vengeance and avarice with no words about how he was the only dwarf brave enough to take back Erebor, accompanied by only thirteen.  No words reminding anyone how he had earned the name Oakenshield, how he had helped his people escape Erebor when Smaug attacked, although he’d been little more than a child...no words about how he had built a solid life for the dwarves of Erebor in the Blue Mountains.

 

There was only talk of the ugliness, and the rage.

 

_If it takes me a lifetime,_ he vowed, _I will make them see.  Make them understand you were more than who you were at the end.  For surely if I can forgive you, the dwarves for whom you fought and toiled and bled will forgive you too._

 

*

 

But with each morning he felt the pain anew, reminded of it the moment he opened his eyes.  There would be a brief heartbeat of peace, and then it would hit him like a blow to the chest, and he would gasp and weep and wonder how he could repair Thorin’s tattered reputation when he could not even bear to get out of bed in the morning.

 

He and Nori grew closer, and he was oddly soothed when he saw his pain reflected in the other’s eyes.

 

The two of them drifted aimlessly around Erebor, barely noticing the hurried and purposeful bustle of more and more dwarves each day.  They tried to assist in the rebuilding efforts but found it so difficult to concentrate they were gently encouraged to take more time to grieve, and so they went back to their wandering.

 

Nori would talk of Fíli’s kindness and gentle spirit, and Bofur would listen silently and mourn him almost as desperately as he did Thorin.

 

Thoughts of Fíli would then lead to thoughts of his brother, and Bofur felt almost dizzy when he thought of Kíli.  He had always had a soft spot for the lad, striving to make sure he never felt secondary to his perfect, golden older brother.  He had treasured Kíli’s wicked sense of humour, and the wild nature that often left Dís and Thorin pulling out their hair with frustration.

 

“Be still,” he would say to them, amused, when yet another plot of Kíli’s had gone marvelously awry and there he would stand, looking sheepish but still somehow triumphant.  “You have in Fíli your heir, and he takes to the role like a fish to water.  Let Kíli be, and he will find his own way.”

 

And thoughts of Kíli would inevitable lead him back to Thorin.

 

The weeks turned into months, and the months into years.

 

And then one day, Nori had news for him.

 

*

 

“Married?”  Bofur was aghast.  “You and Dwalin?  But...I didn’t even...when did…?”

 

Nori looked uneasily around the pub where they were seated but then turned back to meet Bofur’s gaze full on.

 

“We have been courting for some time now,” he said rather defiantly, a flush creeping up his neck.  “I...I did not know how to tell you, so I chose to say nothing.  Apologies, I know that was cowardly of me, but I knew this would be difficult for you - “

 

“Difficult?”  Bofur almost laughed at the absurd understatement.  “You loved Fíli!  He...he would have married you, claimed you as his One, had he lived!  How in the name of all we hold dear are you able to now marry _Dwalin?”_

 

Nori’s look was full of stubbornness but the blush had extended to his cheeks.

 

“Bofur,” he began carefully.  “I loved Fíli.  I loved him utterly and completely.  But he is gone, has been gone all these years now.  I do not wish…”  He stopped and swallowed hard, his eyes flicking away for a moment.  “I cannot continue to be haunted by a memory of what I have lost.  That seems a poor way to honour his memory.”

 

Bofur shook his head, aghast.  “Will you stand here and tell me it is for love of _Fíli_ that you now marry another?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch.  “Because fucking Dwalin seems a far worse way to honour his memory!”

 

Nori visibly recoiled and Bofur felt a dark surge of satisfaction.  His mind was reeling and it felt good and right to push Nori to the breaking point he himself was teetering on.

 

“If you are asking for my blessing I cannot give it,” he said sharply.  “It is not right, not _right_ to call a dwarf your One and then...then marry another as soon as they are gone!”

 

“It has been five years,” Nori said quietly, still averting his gaze.  “Am I to live alone the rest of my days because I loved a warrior who fell defending his kin and his homeland?”

 

_“Yes!”_ Bofur shouted, absolutely staggered.  “How can you ask such a thing?  We love but once, it is the way of things!”

 

Sighing, Nori looked back to Bofur, his face haggard and his eyes full of sorrow.

 

“It is not my way,” he said simply.  

 

He reached his hand out towards Bofur.

 

“I am sorry if that brings you pain,” he said hesitantly.  “Truly I am.  You have grown very...dear to me.  I would not have such harsh words between us.”

 

Bofur leaned back, shaking his head firmly.

 

The hand dropped and Nori straightened up.

 

“Apologies again for not being more truthful with you when I knew my feelings were growing deeper,” he said cooly.  “Dwalin urged me to be more honest with you but…”  He sighed again.  “I rather knew how this would go.”

 

Bofur snorted.  “A coward and a liar, you and Dwalin both.  Makes me almost grateful Fíli did not live to marry you, if this is what you are capable of.”

 

In a flash Bofur’s braid was being gripped firmly and the flat of a knife was pressed under his eye.

 

“Say what you will about me,” Nori snarled, his lip curled up to reveal small white teeth.  “But not Dwalin.  It is only because you are my friend, and because I know your grief so well, that you are still in one piece.”

 

He was released abruptly, the knife disappearing as quickly as it had come, and Bofur let his breath out in a whoosh, not realizing until then he had been holding it.

 

_“Consider this a warning.”_

 

Thorin’s voice echoed in his head and Bofur could feel the ghost of the sword at his throat.

 

He bent forward and moaned, his hands coming up to cover his face, his body shaking.  He felt himself begin to retch and he moaned again.

 

He heard Nori curse and then felt a hand on his shoulder.  He was too worn out to push it away.

 

_"See if you receive a second one."_

 

“Ahh, Bofur - I didn’t...fuck!  I didn’t think.  My temper - forgive me.  I should not have...here, wait.”

 

His words sounded a long way away, muffled by the throb of blood in his ears and a memory of Thorin’s words to him that terrible day at the gate.

 

He could not take a breath in.  The air he’d been holding had long since been expelled but he was not able to breathe in.  He gasped and looked up at Nori, confused and beginning to panic.

 

Nori’s face was calm as he knelt beside Bofur, his eyes absurdly soft.

 

“It’s battle terror,” he said soothingly, squeezing Bofur’s shoulder and placing a grounding hand on his chest.  “Likely from when Thorin...well.  Dwalin, he...he suffers from it as well, from Azanulbizar.  Try to stop struggling.  Concentrate on the feel of my hands.  Just...there, now...just calm yourself.  You’re safe.  You’re safe.”

 

Bofur clenched his eyes shut and tried to block out all sensations except the hand over his heart.  He pushed away the fear that was trying to claw its way through him and felt his heart beat under Nori’s hand - once, twice, three times.

 

And then he felt his ribs expand with air.

 

He sobbed a bit as he exhaled and then breathed in again, this time more easily.

 

Nori patted his chest and shoulder for a few moments and then rose again.  He stood there awkwardly for a moment and then turned to go.

 

Bofur reached out and grasped his sleeve.

 

“Nori,” he said hoarsely, his throat dry and rasping.  “Wait.”

 

Nori stopped but did not turn around.

 

Bofur dropped his hand and said, “I cannot pretend to understand. I will _never_ understand.  I loved Fíli as if he were my own and I will never understand how you can do this."  He paused to take in another gulp of air.  "But...but you have grown dear to me as well.  I would never have survived these past years without you.  I will try - ” he gave a shuddering sigh and fought back the tears that gathered at the back of his throat.  “I will try to make my peace with it.”

 

Nori turned to him.

 

“That is all I would ever ask of you,” he said, more gently than most who knew him would believe possible.  “Thank you, Bofur.”

 

His hand stretched out to grasp Bofur’s shoulder firmly again, and then he was gone.

 

Bofur sat alone at the small table, dazed and feeling empty.

 

_“I will never, could never, love another as I love you.”_

 

_And that is still true,_ he thought ruefully.   _Even if I find myself wishing it were not, it is always true.  After all that happened between us, I would still rather live with the thought of you than the reality of anyone else._

 

He had never so bitterly wanted that to be different as he did in that moment.

 

*

 

In the end, try as he might, Bofur had been unable to let go of his grief enough to be happy for Nori.

 

Fighting his feelings of betrayal and deep, sickening envy, he chose to join the first caravan he could find heading back to the Blue Mountains.

 

Bombur had been nearly inconsolable.

 

“I cannot help but feel, brother,” he said, his eyes red-rimmed and wet, “that we have failed you somehow.”

 

“Oh, Bom...” Bofur protested, chagrined.

 

“No, let me speak,” Bombur said firmly.  “We have all watched you dull before our eyes, and nothing we have done, no comfort we have offered, has been enough to turn the tide with you.  And now you run back halfway across the world to where you have no kin...I do not know what you hope to find there, Bofur, that you cannot find here with us,” his last words nearly obscured by his weeping.

 

Bofur sat helplessly, not knowing what comfort he could offer and feeling resentful he was being asked to offer any at all.

 

Bifur spoke up, his rough voice gentler than Bofur had ever heard it.

 

“Cousin,” he began, “forgive us.  It is not our place to ask you to care for our hearts in this way.”  He looked sternly at Bombur, but then softened it by rubbing the large dwarf's back gently as he sniffed and sat there miserably.  “It is only that we love you so, and worry that whatever you are seeking is not out in the world, but rather in your own heart and head, and that chasing it back to Ered Luin will only take you from us needlessly, causing us all pain.”

 

Sighing heavily, Bofur looked down at his hands, clenched tightly together.

 

“I cannot stay here, Bifur," he said quietly.  "Not any longer.  Not with Nori married to Dwalin.  Erebor has been a torture even with someone who understands.  Without that…” His voice trailed off and his eyes drifted away.  “I feel as if I have been alone for five years, but had at least another lonely soul upon which to lean.  Now even _that_ is gone, and rather than fall I choose to leave.  Can you not understand that?”

 

“You have not been alone!” Bombur burst out.  “We have been here, every hour of every day and you turn away from us!  You will let us do nothing!  You choose strangers over family and care not for how that makes us feel!”

 

“Nori is not a stranger,” Bofur responded hotly.

 

“He is not of your blood!” Bombur snapped back.  “And he is only one dwarf.  And now you would leave behind your entire family - brother, cousin, law sister and your nieces and nephews - to return to Ered Luin to do what?  Mourn with Dís?  In what way are we so lacking?”

 

“Bombur, stop this,” Bifur said sharply.  “You would make this about you and your pain when it is about Bofur.  We must support whatever he decides and try to understand, not judge and strive to make him feel guilty simply because we worry and will miss him terribly.”

 

“Ahh, Bifur,” Bofur said wearily.  “You are as bad as he is, only more subtle.”

 

Bifur smiled.

 

“Aye, I suppose that is true,” he admitted.  "Bombur speaks the truth - it is very difficult, cousin, to watch someone you love refuse your comfort, waste away and then run off while you sit and wonder if there was something you should have done that you did not.  While you worry what is happening to them, because they are not themselves and have not _been_ themselves for longer than you care to remember.  Think of this, and have sympathy if we seem to cling a bit.”

 

Bofur blinked away tears and said, “By the Valar, but I love both of you so much.  I know I do not deserve you and I _know_ my pain would be your pain, if only I knew how to share it with you."  He shook his head and shrugged helplessly.  "But I do not.  Whatever it is I need, I must find alone.  But please, _please_ know there is nothing you could have done differently.”  He spoke now to Bombur in particular, focusing on his brother’s lowered head and trembling sighs.  “It is no fault in you that I remain so...so uneasy, and so grieved.  Erebor has never been a home for me, not without Thorin and now...”  He paused, rubbing his eyes with his hand, finally saying, “There is no fault with anyone but myself, truthfully.  But I feel I will never be _right,_ as right as I can ever be, if I stay here.  Please understand, and do not blame yourselves.”  He began to weep in earnest as he said, “I could not bear it if I thought you blamed yourselves.”

 

“Bofur - “ Bombur sobbed and surged forward, crushing his slighter brother in his meaty embrace.  Bofur stretched out an arm to Bifur, wrapping it around his cousin as he joined the embrace, hugging them both.

 

_And yet I fear if there is no home for me with them,_ he thought, _there is no home for me anywhere anymore._

 

*

 

He sent word to Tauriel that he was leaving, feeling a sense of responsibility to her after all they had been through; and when he examined his feelings more closely he realized he felt almost paternal towards her as well.

 

_If that’s not the silliest thing in all of Arda,_ he thought wryly.   _She likely has seven hundred years on me._

 

But it was an undeniable impulse to see her for himself before he departed, and so they met in Dale one sunny afternoon.

 

Once again, her appearance was enough to shake him out of his own despairing thoughts.  She was not as pale as she had been at the funerals, but she seemed...lighter somehow, less substantial.  

 

_Is this Fading?_  he wondered.   _Could they have loved each other so greatly in so short a time?_

 

He thought back to his first sight of Thorin and sighed.

 

She smiled when she saw him, but it was so sad it broke his heart.  He moved toward her and held out his hands, smiling back a little.  She gripped them and said, “Bofur.  It was kind of you to tell me of your departure.  I am glad for the chance to see you one more time.”

 

He frowned a little and said, “I have kin in Erebor.  I do not think I will be gone forever.”

 

She looked away and when he squeezed her hands she did not respond.

 

_Oh, no,_ he thought.

 

He led them a fair distance to a small bench underneath an elm tree, away from the busy streets, and pulled her down to sit next to him.

 

“Lass,” he said very softly.  “I knew him almost his entire life, and I have never known a dwarf with so much life and happiness.  I used to call him ‘my sweet one', 'my little light.'”

 

She finally turned to him and smiled again, more warmly than before.

 

“I know,” she said.  “He told me.”

 

Bofur closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.  He swallowed hard and said, “So you must believe me when I tell you this is the last thing he would want for you.  He would want you move on - to think on him not with grief but rather with joy.”

 

She shook her head.

 

“It is too late,” she said gently.

 

He grasped her arms.

 

“Must it be?” he asked urgently.  “Or is it a choice?  Because if it is the latter, I can assure you it is not what he would expect or want of you.  He was the least covetous, most generous dwarf I have ever known.  This...you…”  He paused for a moment, searching for the right words.  “It would devastate him.”

 

She looked at him and after a long moment she asked, “Is it a choice for _you?_  Because all I see when I look in your eyes is my grief reflected back thrice over.”

 

He sighed.

 

“I do not know,” he admitted.  “But I have chosen to leave Erebor to find out.  Perhaps you…?”

 

For the first time, he saw her eyes well up with tears.

 

“Perhaps if you return to the Lonely Mountain, we might see each other again,” she whispered hoarsely.  “I promise I will try.”

 

Bofur stretched up to kiss her cheek softly.

 

“Oh, lass,” he murmured, cupping her face warmly, “that’s all any of us can do.”

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and Dís are finally honest with each other about the misgivings they held before the quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has fought me from the beginning...but I'm tired of looking at it! lol!
> 
> And with THAT sterling recommendation - enjoy!

He looked up at Dís, not sure what to expect.  These were hard truths he had shared with her, and while he knew she had suspected much of it, it would be quite different to hear such suspicions confirmed.

 

He was unprepared for the sympathy and love he saw in her eyes, making his breath catch in his throat.

 

“They chose well, my sons?” she asked quietly.

 

He nodded at her and, overwhelmed by her emotion, looked down at his hands awkwardly.

 

“Aye, very well,” he responded softly.  “They may not be the choices a parent would have made for them but…”  He sighed and met her eyes.  “Their hearts led them true, I promise you that.”

 

She breathed in deeply and then exhaled, a trifle unsteadily, her eyes fixed on his.

 

"Ah, Bofur, " she murmured.  "What a strong dwarf you are."

 

Bofur was flabbergasted.   "Strong?" he scoffed.  "I am anything but!  Weeping at the drop of a hat, unable to even leave my bed some mornings...fleeing like a dwarfling frightened by their own shadow at news of another's happiness.  I would not call that "strong."

 

Dís smiled sadly.  "You're wrong, brother.  To endure the way you have after all you suffered at my brother's hand...and then to have courage enough to seek out your own peace away from the pull of his memory - I am humbled by your tenacity.  And your bravery.  You are quite remarkable."

 

Shaking his head in disbelief, Bofur said, "No, Dís.  You are either blinded by your love for me or feeling far too responsible for Thorin's actions.  Either way, I cannot let you call me "brave" or "remarkable".  Nothing could be further from the truth."

 

She regarded him for a moment, and then said quietly, "Do you recall when I told you I worried more for you than for my sons and Thorin?"

 

Nodding, Bofur snorted, saying, "I imagine it was because I am no fighter, as we both know, and never have been."

 

"No," she said.  "It was because I believed your heart to be bigger than theirs, and your capacity to love and forgive to be almost without measure."

 

Stunned, Bofur opened his mouth and then abruptly shut it again.  He had no idea how to respond to such absurdity.

 

"You are unique among all the dwarves I have ever known," she continued gently.  "You are open and raw and unafraid to trust, even if the other has given you no reason to believe they will respond in kind.  You just have faith, and you have almost always been right to have it.

 

"I was frightened, because I feared the quest would finally produce occasion for you to be wrong.  And I knew if that should happen, it would shatter you to your core in a way you might never recover from."

 

Bofur did not realize he had begun to weep until he saw Dís reach out and hand him her handkerchief.

 

He took it absently and dried his face, still not knowing what to say.

 

"Thorin was - " she started and then paused, sighing a little.  "Oh, Bofur - I loved my brother so much," she began again, clearly choosing her words carefully.  "If not for him, I do not like to think what would have become of our people.  He was strong and stubborn and he took care of us.  To his own detriment he took care of us.  Until he met you, Thorin did not do a single thing for his own happiness.  Every moment of his day, every corner of his heart, was for us, the dwarves of Erebor.  After he met you - " she stopped again and smiled warmly at him, and Bofur felt it in his heart.  "His love for you was the first thing in decades that was only for _him,_ the first time he allowed himself a modicum of happiness and selfishness, for that is how he saw it - being selfish.  He was so unused to taking anything for himself he felt almost guilty about it, about _you,_ for a long while."

 

Bofur remembered very clearly those early days of their courting, when Thorin would be so present with him, making him feel as if there was no one else in the world who mattered, who even interested him...only to then disappear for days on end, as if the growing love between them had been a complete misunderstanding on Bofur's part, and Thorin's presence in his life only a fantasy.  It had been maddening and he had long suspected it had been Thorin's uneasiness with putting himself first in any way that had caused him to spend a long time leaning forward only to pull back again.

 

"Our father and grandfather were hard dwarves," she continued slowly.  “Even before the scourge of madness that tainted Thrór in particular later in his life, they were both...unyielding and frighteningly aggressive when such means were not always required.  And they were far from humble.  Why should they have been?  Until Smaug, their entire lives had been spent as rulers of the most powerful and wealthy kingdom in Arda.  And once real  _hunger_ for that gold sank its teeth in, they were both well and truly lost to us."

 

Bofur thought back to the treasury of Erebor.  He had only seen it in the aftermath of Smaug's death, when it had been nothing but chaotic piles of wealth and gleaming treasure as far as the eye could see.  It had been dizzying, and the greed he had seen waking in the eyes of several of the Company had made him feel sick to his stomach.  

 

By that time he and Thorin were no longer speaking.  Thorin's heart had hardened against him, and his indifference was so painful Bofur chose to avoid him as much as possible.  To see him surrounded by his birthright, as symbolized by an endless river of gold and jewels, and to watch his eyes darken with lust for it all only served to remind Bofur how much he had lost on their quest, and how its success had come to mean the end of the best love he had ever known.

 

"I had always wondered what would have become of Thorin had Smaug never attacked us," Dís now said.  "The Thorin we all knew and loved was one forged in hardship and suffering, the like of which Thrór and our father had never known.  He was so young when we were forced to flee - he was not corrupted by power and gold sickness the same way they were.  They thought almost _nothing_ of our people, only of how to regain what they had lost.”

 

“Dís - “ Bofur interjected gently.

 

“Why else would we have tried to retake Khazad-dûm?” she growled.  “That was folly, pure and simple, but my grandfather was obsessed with becoming a king again, and damn the cost.”  She shook her head and added, her voice low and full of heartbreak,  “Damn Frerin’s life.”

 

Bofur was startled.  He had almost never heard Dís or Thorin speak of the brother they had lost at Azanulbizar.  Hesitantly, he reached out to touch her arm and then said, “It seems an unduly cynical view of your own kin, I think.  I am sure they did what they thought was right.  It could not have been easy to be so suddenly and violently thrown out of the only life you have ever known, with a whole nation looking to you to protect and provide for them.”

 

She looked at him fondly.  “And you wonder why I say you are unlike any dwarf I have ever known?”

 

Bofur flushed and looked down, dropping his hand.

 

Reaching out to grasp that hand firmly with her own Dís murmured, “A capacity to love and forgive beyond measure.  One of many reasons my brother loved you so.”

 

Bofur now felt thoroughly out of sorts.  He squeezed her hands back and then pulled his away, feeling awkward and very self-conscious.

 

She let him go, smiling enigmatically at him, and he suddenly felt as if his innermost thoughts were totally exposed.

 

“Bofur," she began haltingly.  "I always knew Thorin possessed the best of my father and his father before him, but I was forever worried he also possessed their weaknesses - what made them so angry, so entitled.  What eventually drove them mad.  I did not know if such a thing were possible.  Was it in their very nature, or had such traits been learned after decades of being treated as superior in every way?”  She shook her head.  “And in any case it mattered not.  It seemed unlikely Thorin would ever experience such unlimited wealth and power as our father had, as our grandfather had.  And after he earned the name Oakenshield I relaxed further, deciding even if it _were_ something in their nature, surely Thorin had melted away any such hateful qualities with his struggles and his successes, all accomplished on his own merits without any of the inherited accommodations they had enjoyed.”

 

“And then…” Bofur sighed.

 

She nodded.  “And then he met with Gandalf and decided it was time to retake Erebor.  And I began to worry with a new urgency.  Because my sons were going with him, and because you were too.  And it seemed that with the very endeavor he was realizing all my fears.”

 

“You thought that - “

 

“I _knew,”_  she corrected him.  “I _knew_ that if Erebor and that fucking gold took hold of him the way it had Thrór and Thrain, the Thorin we knew would cease to exist, and that your love would not survive.

 

“And if your love did not survive, I feared you would not either.”

 

*

 

Dís rose to put the kettle on again, and Bofur went to fetch his carving.  He needed something else to focus on besides the waves of confusing emotions he was currently submerged under.

 

Returning to the kitchen he found Dís already sitting, a pot of tea steeping in the center of the table.  He sat and began to whittle, his hands moving without conscious thought.

 

“You say he asked your forgiveness at the end,” she said gently, after a long moment.

 

Bofur glanced up at her quickly, and then back down to his carving.

 

“Aye,” he said shortly.  “I told him there was nothing to forgive.”

 

“Bofur - “

 

“There wasn’t!” he cried.  “He was not himself and even if he had not…”  He stopped for a moment, the pain of all that had happened still so sharp and so ruinous.   “Even if he had not lost himself I always knew when I fell in love with him that he was a _king_ \- an exiled king, perhaps, but a king nonetheless.  I knew he might one day wish to return to his home and that there might not be room for me any longer.  I was not a child, Dís!  Not a romantic fool thinking Thorin would lift me up and make me, what, his Consort?”  He snorted derisively.  “I always knew returning to Erebor, even without any cursed madness, would likely mean the end of us.  How can a _miner_ be the Consort of a King?  It’s absurd.  The nobs would never have stood for it.  They were bad enough about it all in Ered Luin.  What do you think it would have been like in Erebor?”  He shook his head firmly.  “Impossible.  Absolutely impossible.  I always knew that.”

 

Dís looked shocked, and Bofur wanted to shake her.

 

“Are you telling me you loved him, thinking all the while you would be forgotten if and when he ever returned to Erebor?  And that you agreed to join him on a quest to accomplish that very task feeling that way?” she asked, stunned.

 

His hands stilled, and he looked her in the eye and said, very quietly, “Dís.  I loved him.  What would you have had me do?”

 

She reached out and embraced him.  “Oh, my dear, dear Bofur.  I am glad there was enough of him left to remember what a treasure he had in you before he died.  A loyal heart, indeed.”

 

He slowly brought his arms up to return her embrace, breathing deeply and resting his head on her broad shoulder.

 

“For what it is worth,” she said, holding him more tightly, “he told me before you departed that he planned to ask you to marry him once the dragon was defeated, and Erebor reclaimed.”

 

Bofur closed his eyes and pushed back the flood of tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

 

“He did not intend to set you aside,” she continued in a low voice.  “I know things went badly, and he became...ill, and lost sight of what truly mattered but know that.  He wanted you beside him for the rest of your lives.”

 

Bofur’s breath caught in his throat, and a small sob escaped him.

 

Dís pulled back and grasped his face gently in her hands.

 

“He loved you so much, but had he not apologized in the end I would do it for him now.  You did not deserve what he did to you, and you are a better dwarf than he was to say there was nothing to forgive.  There was _everything_ to forgive.  Everything.”

 

Pierced by those words Bofur began to finally weep, and Dís embraced him again, patting his back gently.

 

“That’s just what he said,” he finally managed, clutching her arms and burying his face in her hair like a child.  “And I told him I would never, _could_ never, love another as I loved him.”

 

They were quiet a moment and then Dís said, “And now you do.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so...in case you were wondering: Dís references a conversation between Thorin and Bofur (the asking forgiveness and all that) that you have not read yet. Once upon a time it was around here...and then I expanded it and moved it closer to the end.
> 
> Weird decision? Probably...but I felt strongly it worked better there...but then, of course, it left THIS conversation which HAD to take place here and which I rather liked and didn't really want to change. So, there you have it! 
> 
> Fear not - you will get to read the entire deathbed scene later on. And after all this bullshit explanation, I hope you think it's worth the wait!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur settles into life in the Shire, and begins to come to terms with what he feels for Bilbo.

When Bilbo returned the next afternoon it was to a quiet yet warm and relaxed smial.  Dís was outside in the garden smoking so it was Bofur who saw the hobbit first.

 

“Hullo!”  Bilbo greeted him lightly.  “You look well today.  I do hope the two of you had a good evening together.”

 

Bofur looked up from his carving and smiled.

 

“Aye, it was good indeed,” he said simply.  “Much that needed to be said was said, and I feel...content.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes searched his face carefully, and Bofur did not look away.  

 

Finally, Bilbo nodded, satisfied.

 

“You do seem unburdened a bit,” he ventured.  “I had hoped her visit would help and it seems that it has. I am terribly glad, Bofur.  You deserve to be happy, you know.”

 

Bofur’s heart beat more quickly, and he took a deep breath before saying, “I think we all deserve happiness, Bilbo, none more than you.  You have been a true friend to me and I...well, I hope to repay your kindness someday.”

 

“Nonsense,” Bilbo scoffed, waving his hand as he walked past Bofur to put on the kettle.  “We are friends, yes?  And friends help each other and are glad to do so.  So I’ll have no more thanks, if you please!  It’s what anyone would do.”

 

“Hardly anyone,” Bofur murmured.  “And I shall thank you whenever I see fit, _if you please.”_

 

“I heard that!” Bilbo called from the pantry as he gathered food for supper.  “Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!”

 

“Save _me_ from irascible hobbits,” Bofur nearly whispered from behind his hand.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing important.  I simply said ‘Thank you’".

 

“Oi!”  A sticky bun sailed across the kitchen and bounced off the back of Bofur’s neck.  “What did I tell you?”

 

Bofur laughed, deeply and honestly, and it had never felt so good to do so.  

 

“To think I’d live to see the day a hobbit would throw food!” he crowed.  “Master Baggins, it appears you are picking up some atrocious dwarven habits!”

 

“And I wonder who is to blame for that, hmm?” came the tart reply.

 

“Oh, now, don’t speak so of Dís,” Bofur teased.  “She cannot help what she is.”

 

Bilbo’s laugh ran out and Bofur joined him in his merriment, waiting until Bilbo came into sight again to fetch the tea kettle before taking an enormous bite of the pastry, laughing even harder as Bilbo tried to snatch it away from him.

 

By this time Dís had returned from her pipe and she stood leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded with an enormous grin on her face.  When she caught Bofur’s eye she winked at him and he blushed, and then blushed further when she began to laugh too.

 

_Oh, I must look a right fool to her,_ he thought.   _Flirting with Bilbo like a dwarf barely out of their twenties._

 

He looked over at Bilbo, who was still laughing, his eyes bright and his cheeks pink from the sun and the walk.  He could not look away, the very sight of him making the dwarf feel warm all over and filling him with peace and ease.

 

_By the Valar,_ he thought bemusedly, _she’s right.  I don’t know how or when it happened, but I am utterly and completely in love with him._

 

He had no idea what to do.

 

“How can you say I love him?" Bofur had asked, shocked.  “We love only once.  You of all dwarves would know that.”

 

“Bofur,” Dís had responded firmly, “you say you are no romantic and yet the way you hold on is the very definition of it!  Not all believe there is such a thing as a One, after all.  Who can say either way?  Perhaps it is as simple as letting go and being open to loving again.  And if that is what is happening here, why torment yourself over it?  Why not accept it as the gift it surely is?”

 

Shaking his head stubbornly, Bofur said, “I love Thorin.  He was my One and the other half of my soul.”

 

“And he is dead!” Dís exclaimed.  “Dead and gone and you are not.  Why must it be all or nothing?  Surely the feelings you have for Bilbo are not wrong!  Maybe you are meant to love again, now that Thorin is gone.  Why must you fight that so hard?”

 

“Because it is not our way!” he cried.  “We love once with all we have and all we are and we do not love again!”

 

“So you would let a...a fairy story keep you alone the rest of your days when there is a chance you might find happiness with another?”  She sighed.  “Your love for him does not diminish your love for Thorin, Bofur, and I will tell you this only once.  You are a fool if you do not at least try.  If you love Bilbo as I think you do, choose to take a chance.”

 

“But - “

 

“I will never believe love can make you less than what you are,” she said.  “Don’t be afraid, brother.  After all you have struggled with, do not be afraid to follow where love would lead you.  The only thing worse than your sorrow over Thorin’s death would be your sorrow over Bilbo because you never tried.”  

 

“Bofur?”

 

He started, snapped out of his recollections by Bilbo’s concerned voice.

 

He looked up to see the hobbit watching him worriedly, and then he saw Dís behind him, standing with her eyebrow raised questioningly.

 

“Sorry?”

 

The hobbit relaxed a bit.  “I was asking if you were ready to admit the superiority of Old Toby yet.  Dís was telling me how much she favored it, so I thought possibly…” His voice trailed off.  “Bofur?  Are you quite well?  You seem...I don’t know, distracted a bit.”

 

Glancing up again at Dís, Bofur saw her smile understandingly at him.

 

He cleared his throat and said, “Apologies, Bilbo.  Last night was much needed but left me feeling a bit wrung-out, to be sure.  I’m just a touch tired is all.”

 

The warmth that came up in Bilbo’s eyes almost set Bofur’s heart on fire.

 

“Quite all right,” he said gently.  “Totally understandable!  What do you say to a quiet evening at home, complete with baked ham and plenty of stories about Frodo sure to bore you into a good night’s sleep?”

 

Bofur smiled widely and said, “I say yes indeed to all of those things so long as you do not force me to smoke any of that pathetic excuse for tobacco you call Old Toby.”

 

“Here now!” Bilbo cried.  “I’ll not have the finest leaf in all of Middle Earth spoken of so cruelly!  Take that!”  And before Bofur could blink he was hit by another sticky bun.

 

“Ah!” he cried.  “Dís, you cannot leave!  See what you would be abandoning me to?  A mad hobbit who thinks nothing of behaving like a dwarf!  What will become of me?”

 

Dís’s laughter rang out alongside Bilbo’s as Bofur then ate the bun in two large bites.

 

“What?” he asked innocently, licking his fingers clean.  “I said I was tired, yes?  I need to keep up my strength!”

 

*

The day Dís returned home was bittersweet.  Bofur had taken so much comfort in her words and her very presence that he was loathe to see her leave, but in truth now that he had admitted to himself how he felt he had become anxious to be alone again with Bilbo, to see if there were any chance of something between them.  As a result Dís had begun to seem a bit like a chaperone, and Bofur could feel himself chafing for a little freedom from her meaningful looks.

 

The worst was how transparent he was about it.  He had all but packed her up himself and then arranged for her escort to arrive at the appointed time at Bag End besides.  It was so ridiculous that even Bilbo (for Dís had seen right through him the moment it had begun) had asked him why he was practically pushing her out the door.

 

Dís laughed softly at Bofur’s expression when Bilbo told him it was no trouble for her to stay as long as she wanted and that if he was worried she was overstaying her welcome he needn’t be.

 

“Honestly, Bofur - Bag End has more space than I know what to do with!  I have loved every moment of her visit and would be happy if she stayed the rest of the year, truly!” Bilbo told Bofur very earnestly.

 

_If she so much as considers this offer_... Bofur thought to himself, a touch desperately.

 

Bilbo then turned to Dís to launch a more direct appeal.

 

“Dís, it has been an honor and a pleasure!  I hope you are not leaving out of some misguided sense of propriety or some such nonsense.  I would be thrilled if you stayed as long as you wished to.”

 

Bofur turned pleading eyes on her, hoping he was communicating silently what he could not say out loud.

 

Laughing again, Dís took the hobbit’s hand and said, “Oh, Bilbo, you have grown so dear to me.  Believe me when I say I would like nothing more than to while away the winter with the two of you here in your cozy home.”

 

_But_...Bofur thought.   _Please, let that be the next thing she says._

 

“But,” Dís continued, looking over at Bofur, her eyes twinkling as if he had spoken his thought aloud, “I really must return home.  I became the leader of the dwarves of Ered Luin after Thorin left, you know, and I have already been gone far too long.  It was simply too difficult to leave you and Bofur as promptly as I should have, and for that I thank you.”

 

Bilbo grasped her hand in both of his and said, “I am so pleased to have met you, after all this time.  Your family meant so much to me, and it was wonderful to be able to speak about them and our time together with you.  I do hope you are proud of them, as I believe you should be.  They were all three remarkable dwarves.”

 

Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away before saying, “Aye, Bilbo.  I could not agree more.  Thank you for saying that.  And thank you for making Bofur smile again.  Thank you for...well, for everything.”

 

They embraced, and all at once Bofur wanted her to stay.  Not only did he treasure her, she was all that stood between him and Bilbo, and he was suddenly very nervous at the thought of her absence, and what that might mean for him.

 

But then she was embracing him, and he held his tongue and squeezed her tightly, kissing her on the temple.

 

She squeezed him back, and whispered in his ear, “You have already survived the worst that could happen, brother.  Do not be afraid to choose love and follow where it leads you.”

 

Kissing him on his cheek she pulled away to look at him one last time.

 

“Be well, Bofur,” she said, cupping his face with her hand, “until we meet again.”

 

“Be well, Dís,” he responded with a smile, “and may Mahal guide you safely home.  I love you.”

 

“And I you,” she replied softly.  “So much.”  Her expression grew melancholy, and Bofur knew she was thinking of Thorin, and all that had changed since they had seen each other last.

 

Finally she pulled away to hug Bilbo.  “Farewell, Master Baggins,” she said briskly.  “I look forward to seeing you again someday.  Perhaps next time you will accept my hospitality in the Blue Mountains.  You are welcome any time.”

 

Bilbo grinned and said, “Be careful what you offer, now.  Don’t forget - we hobbits eat seven times a day!”

 

All three of them laughed at that and Dís said, “Never fear, Bilbo.  I shall tell the cooks we are hosting at least five dwarves.  That way there is sure to be enough.”

 

They laughed harder, and their laughter carried them outside to her pony and her guard.

 

She swung up into the saddle smoothly and lifted a hand to both of them as her small group turned to head back toward home.

 

Bofur and Bilbo waved back, and stood outside watching until she faded from their view.

 

Then Bilbo poked Bofur in the side and said, “Come now.  Don’t be sad.  I’ve made your favorite today - beef stew with extra potatoes and apple pie.  I thought it might help ease the sting.”

 

Bofur looked down and smiled.  “Ah, Bilbo, whatever would I do without you?” he teased.

 

The hobbit grinned and shrugged, saying, “Well, as long as you don’t share any more foolish notions about Old Toby you won’t have to find out for a good long while.”

 

_Oh, my sweet Bilbo,_ Bofur thought as he followed the hobbit back inside, _if you only knew how deeply I want that to be true._

 

*

The next several weeks passed quickly.  

 

The anticipation Bofur had felt at being alone with Bilbo again had not abated, nor had his certainty regarding how he felt; but the boldness he had experienced just before Dís’s departure had faded and in its place a strange bashfulness had crept up.  Now that he had ample opportunity Bofur discovered he was unable to share how he really felt with Bilbo, and that he was suddenly almost uncomfortable around him.  It was not a gruff, uneasy sort of discomfort but rather an awkwardness borne of Bofur’s secret affections.  He felt on edge all the time when he was in Bilbo’s company, as if he did not know from one moment to the next what he might say or do, a kind of thrilling danger that left him breathless but gloriously invigorated, and he had not felt so alive and in the world for a very long time.

 

Thankfully, Bilbo seemed blissfully unaware of Bofur’s agitation.

 

Bofur took to busying himself around Bag End as a distraction, making small repairs and improvements - the kind of thing Bilbo admittedly had no talent for and that he would normally have hired someone to come take care of.

 

“A dwarf without a purpose is a dwarf to be pitied,” Bofur had explained when Bilbo tried yet again to dissuade him from working during what was to be his time of relaxation.  “We are not an idle folk and truthfully, I find it much more healing to keep myself occupied rather than sitting about, growing as stale as yesterday’s bread.”

 

Bilbo had bristled a bit at that.

 

“So because I enjoy reading and relaxing with my pipe and other such simple pleasures, are you saying I am yesterday’s bread?” he'd huffed.

 

Bofur had shrugged.

 

“Well, if the shoe fits,” he'd offered teasingly, and Bilbo had begun to laugh.

 

“And that’s where I have you, you insufferable dwarf!" he'd cried triumphantly.  "Hobbits do not wear shoes!  Hence I claim your entire argument is flawed, irreparably flawed, and I shall demand an apology.”

 

Bofur had grinned and said, “Would new, sturdy shelving in your washroom serve as an expression of my deepest regret for having offended you?”

 

Bilbo had allowed as how that would serve nicely, and was in fact quite pleased with the resulting carpentry work.  They both agreed it was not only useful but looked rather fine as well.

 

“Lobelia will be terribly jealous the next time she forces her way in,” Bilbo had gloated.  “You’d best not admit to being the one behind such lovely work, unless you want to never see the light of day again.  She’d have you over rebuilding her smial from the ground up, mark my words.”

 

Laughing, Bofur had said, “Well, what better way than to discover just where she’s hidden all of your mother’s silver?”

 

*

 

A  fortnight after Dís returned to Ered Luin Bofur accompanied Bilbo to Drogo and Primula’s home in Buckland to finally meet little Frodo.

 

He was entirely unprepared for how spectacularly adorable hobbit babies were.

 

Frodo’s eyes were the brightest blue Bofur had ever seen, brighter even than Thorin’s had been, and they were so large in the little one’s head that he looked almost fanciful, as if he were a doll Bofur had crafted and not really alive at all.

 

_I would have made us all wealthy had I thought to create something like this,_ Bofur mused delightedly as he gently held Frodo in his arms.   _Everyone would have wanted one.  No wonder hobbits have so many little ones!  How could anyone resist a face such as this?_

 

His fascination with the hobbitling made Bilbo and his cousins laugh, and Bilbo teased him that he needed to learn to share better when Bofur was clearly reluctant to relinquish Frodo to his mother after most of the afternoon.

 

Primula laughed, saying, “I need only feed him and then he’s yours again, Master Bofur.  Believe me, I am grateful for the help!  He tends to be quite fussy around anyone who isn’t me, including Drogo - “

 

“‘Quite fussy’ is the polite way to put it,” Drogo added dryly.

 

Shushing him as she settled down and began to nurse, she continued, “You are terribly good with him, you must have spent a great deal of time around little ones.”

 

Bofur noticed Bilbo stiffen ever so slightly.

 

He smiled softly at her and said, “I have an astonishing twelve nieces and nephews, if you can believe that.  I know that’s nothing remarkable by hobbit standards but I assure you it’s almost legendary by ours.  And, umm…”  He paused and then said, “My partner had two nephews whom I helped raise.  I did not know them when they were as tiny as this, but...well, I suppose between them and my brother’s children I have indeed spent a great deal of time around little ones.”

 

Primula looked almost stricken as she said, “Oh, Bofur, I am so sorry.  Bilbo has told us of your loss and here I am...please forgive me, I’m not usually so thoughtless.”

 

Kneeling down beside her, Bofur said quietly, “Now, none of that, please.  It’s an honor to be able to speak of my family and it has taken a certain hobbit to help me understand that.  Bilbo always says speaking of your lost loved ones has a way of easing your pain and he’s right, so I thank you for asking me.”

 

She gave him a tentative smile and he patted her on the shoulder as he rose and crossed to Bilbo.

 

Bilbo reached his hand out to squeeze Bofur’s arm as he smiled and said, “Bofur is also a fine toymaker.  He himself carved those little animals I brought on my first visit.  So I imagine that is another reason for his familiarity with children.  He’s likely been followed around by dozens of them for years!”

 

Drogo raised his eyebrows in surprise as Primula exclaimed, “You made those yourself!  They’re absolutely marvelous!  Why did you not tell us right away?”

 

Bofur blushed a bit and waved his hand weakly as Bilbo answered proudly, “He’s remarkably modest, that’s why.  You’ll find after an evening with Bofur you will have told him all your deepest, darkest secrets, as if you’d known him for years, and yet he will not have spoken a single word about himself.”  He looked up at Bofur and winked at him, grinning.  

 

Bofur’s heart fluttered deliciously in his chest, and he smiled back at Bilbo.

 

“Right bizarre for a dwarf, I’d say, such humility.”  the hobbit continued teasingly.  “In my admittedly limited experience, anyway.”

 

_"Consider this a warning."_

 

Thorin’s voice ripped through Bofur’s happy contentment like a bolt of lightening.  

 

“Yes,” Bofur managed, his voice sounding to him as if from a great distance, “we dwarves do tend to be a mite bit arrogant, don’t we?  Some more than others I expect.”

 

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to look stricken.

 

“I didn’t mean - “ he started.

 

Bofur grasped his shoulder gently.

 

“I know,” he said softly.  “I know.  Sometimes things just...catch me unawares.  There’s no harm done.”

 

Bilbo looked unconvinced.

 

“Bofur, apologies,” he said, so quietly only the dwarf could hear him.  “That was incredibly insensitive of me.  I meant only to tease you, and I have hurt you.  I’m so sorry.”

 

His face was so full of sorrow and guilt that Bofur had to physically restrain himself from grasping it in his hands and lifting it up so that he might kiss such a devastated expression away.

 

He sighed and squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder again.

 

“No harm done,” he repeated just as quietly.  “Let me just take a moment, yes?  I’ll have a pipe out back and then I’ll be right as rain.”

 

Bilbo nodded and Bofur stepped past him into the kitchen.  As he headed to the back door he heard Drogo ask, “Is everything all right there, Bilbo?  Something seems a bit amiss, if I may say so.”

 

He did not linger to hear Bilbo’s response.

 

*

He wandered outside into the sunshine, and walked through the cheerful flowers towards the small bench he saw up ahead on a little hill.

 

He wondered bemusedly if all hobbit gardens were so similar as Bilbo’s and this one, for while Bilbo’s was larger and more grand, the flowers seemed to be much the same (at least to Bofur’s eye) and even the position of the bench was familiar, up away from the smial, perched as high as possible so that the view would be more impressive.

 

He sat, curling a leg underneath him and pulling out his pipe.

 

It was not until he struck a match and held it before him that he noticed his hands were shaking.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - back to the quest!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur thinks back on a terrible time during the quest.

“Thorin, a word?”

 

The king’s eyes swiveled to meet his, unreadable in the dim light of the dining hall.

 

“Please?” Bofur added quietly.

 

Thorin nodded, and followed Bofur into the small narrow hallway.

 

The Master’s house was quite splendid, especially compared to the relative squalor Bard and his family, and indeed the rest of Laketown, called home.  Bofur alone amongst the dwarves recognized the great skill that had been taken in the design and construction of the wooden structure, its vaulted ceilings and carved wainscotting and molding truly magnificent.  The window cornices were the most elaborate he had ever seen, and the finials he spied at the bottom of the stairs were matching dragons, spiked tails coiled under clawed feet and wings spread as if about to take flight.  They were beautiful.

 

Bofur hated everything about them, as he hated everything about the Master.

 

His stomach hurt to think of them all here, cozying up to and sharing food and drink with the one who was so obviously responsible for the poverty they could see all around them.

 

He stopped at the far end of the hallway and turned to face Thorin, trying hard not to flinch at the coldness he saw in the other’s eyes.

 

“Well?  What is it?” Thorin asked evenly.  “What is so important it could not be spoken of in front of the Company?”

 

Bofur just looked at him for a moment, searching his face.  The last few weeks had been so heartbreaking, watching helplessly as Thorin had continued to slip away from him, the way he’d always feared but had never really wanted to believe would happen.  

 

But Thorin’s destiny was upon them both, and there was nothing to be done.  

 

And yet this...this embracing of a Man so clearly foul and vile, telling him he would share in the wealth of Erebor...it was one thing to pay back a debt earned in good faith and offer hope to a suffering people but quite another to be in league with such a creature.

 

“Speak!” Thorin nearly shouted and this time Bofur did flinch.  He had never been spoken to that way by Thorin before.  He had only very rarely heard Thorin speak to anyone in such a manner.

 

“Time was when you would never have even imagined raising your voice to me,” he said quietly.  “But I see that has changed, as have many other things during the course of this quest.”

 

Thorin’s face remained impassive as he regarded Bofur.

 

“Aye, much is different,” he agreed, his tone calmer.  “I have not been so close to Erebor in nearly a century and a half.  We face not only a dragon in less than two day’s time but, I expect, the Elves of the Woodland Realm as well.  Surely Thranduil will not accept defeat gracefully.  And in the midst of all this I have to manage the ego of the most useless Man I have ever met.  Have I forgotten anything?”

 

Bofur shook his head.

 

“Ah, one moment!” Thorin continued with false cheerfulness.  “I have indeed forgotten something!  Not only do I have all this to contend with, but now my One has dragged me out of dinner, the success of which is vital to our endeavors, and refuses to actually tell me what was so bloody important it had to be discussed _right this fucking moment!”_

 

His voice, which had started pleasantly enough, had by the end risen to such a pitch that Bofur felt almost physically assaulted.  He took a small step back and bumped up against the elegant bannister with the absurd dragon carvings.

 

Over Thorin’s shoulder Bofur saw Fíli appear, frowning as he saw the two of them.

 

_We must look a fright,_ Bofur thought a bit wildly.   _Thorin so imposing and ferocious and me, with my back literally against the wall._

 

“Uncle?” Fíli asked uncertainly.  “Is everything all right?”

 

_Oh, lad,_ Bofur thought.   _Things couldn’t be further from it, and the worst is I have no idea what to do to set them right again._

 

Before Thorin could speak Bofur called out, “No need to worry, Fíli my boy!  Your uncle and I are simply discussing the details of our departure tomorrow.  Now, be a good lad and keep the Master and the others out of our hair for a moment longer, eh?”  His eyes never left Thorin’s.

 

“Bofur…” Fíli was far too sharp to not sense something was amiss, but when Bofur smiled at him and gestured for him to leave he did, with one more worried look over his shoulder.

 

Once they were alone again, Bofur did his best to ignore his pounding heart and said as calmly as he could, “Listen to me, Thorin, and listen well.  You and I have loved each other for a long time now, and I will forgive you many things.  But you cannot speak to me like this.  If you will not respect me as your lover and partner, then respect me as one of only thirteen who agreed to join you in this venture.”

 

Thorin stood stock still, his hands balled into fists, silent.

 

“I wanted only to ask you what your intentions were toward the Master, and the people of this town,” Bofur said.  “You offer to share with them whatever is recovered from Smaug, to turn this ramshackle village into the, what did you call it?  The center of trade in the North?  You stood there in all your glory and promised them a way out of this grinding poverty and made them trust you.  And now I want to know - did you mean it?”

 

Thorin eyes burned black, and they all but challenged Bofur to look away.

 

He did not.

 

“Are you asking me if I plan to keep my word?” Thorin asked finally, his voice low and dangerous.  “Is a common miner, a _toymaker_ for Mahal’s sake, questioning the word of a Durin?”

 

Bofur gasped, utterly shocked, and his heart stuttered in his chest, as if it too could not believe what it had just heard.

 

“Thorin,”  Bofur whispered.  “I beg you, listen to what you’re saying.  This is not you speaking.  It cannot be.  The dwarf I have known and loved all these years could never say such a thing to me.  Please, _please -_ just _listen_ to yourself.  Can you not hear it, hear what is happening?”

 

Thorin leaned into him, and Bofur’s mind refused to recognize the hostility behind the gesture.

 

“What I hear happening,” Thorin growled, “is my One telling me he does not believe what I said, does not trust me to keep a promise I made.”  His hand drifted up to rest rather gently on Bofur’s chest, and Bofur longed to grip that hand and cup it against his cheek, to pretend that this wasn’t real, that none of this was happening - that they were back home, in the hills outside Ered Luin, relaxing on the soft grass in the light of the setting sun, and Thorin’s hand was on his chest only to loosen the ties on his tunic.

 

He closed his eyes and offered up a short prayer.

 

_Please, let this all be a dream,_ he said silently.   _Let me open my eyes and see his face smiling at me, and let Erebor and all that has occurred be simply...wiped away, a mistake of fate._

 

_Let it not be too late._

 

He opened his eyes again.

 

Thorin’s face filled his vision but it was not what he had prayed for.  It was as cold and full of simmering fury as it had been before he’d closed his eyes.

 

“Can you not even look at me?” asked Thorin quietly.  “You shame us both by questioning my honor and then you shut your eyes?”

 

The hand on his chest suddenly felt so heavy.

 

“I - “ Bofur began, but his words dried up in his throat.

  

He swallowed and forced himself to speak.

 

“I want only to know how you plan to help these people.” he said, as strongly as he could.  “Throwing gold at this Master will do nothing but line his pockets even further.  And I suppose that would be one thing if he were the only one you’d spoken to.”

 

The hand begin to press harder, and Bofur shifted as best he could to relieve the pressure.

 

“But Thorin,” he continued, beginning to feel desperate, needing to make him understand.  “You stood in front of the entire town and told them they would all be wealthy and now I need to know - will you truly help them?  Will you rebuild their town and do what will be necessary to make sure all will benefit?  As you promised to do?”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Thorin glared at him and leaned even closer.  Bofur’s head knocked against the wall as he tried to back away but had nowhere to go.

 

“And why is this suddenly so important to you?” he hissed.  “Why do the lives of these Men suddenly hold such weight that you would risk angering me in this way?”

 

Bofur’s temper suddenly flared to life.

 

“Risk _angering_ you?” he asked incredulously.  “Am I speaking to my lover or as a commoner to a king?  Because I did not know it was forbidden to disagree with you!  It never has been before, in all our years together, so forgive my confusion.”

 

He reached up and knocked Thorin’s hand away and shoved himself up off the wall, forcing Thorin to stumble back a step.

 

“Am I no longer allowed to question you when I do not understand?" he continued, his voice growing louder and more sure.  "When I am _worried_ for you?  If you have altered the terms of our relationship, best tell me now so I can be sure not to impose where I am not needed!”

 

Thorin looked shocked, and Bofur wanted to shake that expression off his face.

 

_Have I honestly been so weak this entire time that he should look at me like that now?_   he wondered tiredly, all his indignation abruptly evaporating.   _Shame on us both._

 

They stood in silence for a long moment, looking at each other.  Thorin seemed strangely blank, empty in a disturbing way, as if he did not know how to proceed now that Bofur had shown his teeth in such a way.

 

Bofur himself did not know how to proceed.  They had never exchanged such harsh words before, not even during the course of the quest.  Until that very moment, Bofur’s unhappiness had stemmed largely from Thorin’s pulling away rather than any active hostility on his part.

 

No longer.

 

Now a line had been crossed, and Bofur knew, down to his very core, that there would be no coming back from this for them.

 

He tried anyway.  

 

_“Âzyungâl, menu tessu.  Men lananubukhs menu.”_

 

Thorin shook his head, his eyes hooded and unknowable.

 

His heart breaking, Bofur implored quietly, “Thorin.  How has it come to pass that we should speak to each other so?  Is there no way - “

 

“No,” came the terse, hard reply.  “There is not.  Not any longer.”

 

Bofur pressed his lips together tightly, holding back a moan by sheer force of will.  It took every tiny bit of his control not to lunge forward and throw himself at Thorin’s feet, begging forgiveness.

 

_Forgiveness?_ a small part of him cried out. _It is not for him to grant forgiveness!_

 

_And what does that matter?_ came the panicked reply.   _He is leaving, leaving leaving leaving.  If it will make him stay, make him love you again, say it!  Say anything!_

But he couldn’t.  What little pride and stubbornness he still possessed would not allow it.

 

So he just slouched against the wall and watched as his One turned his back and disappeared back into the dining hall.

 

_You fucking fool,_ he thought defeatedly.   _And you wondered how things could possibly get any worse._

 

Upon returning to dinner he proceeded to get drunker than he ever had in his life, blacking out and finally finding peace for a few brief hours.

 

In the morning he woke to find that Thorin had left him behind.

 

*

 

It is a terrible thing, the wrath of a dragon.

 

The dwarves of Erebor knew that well, and remembered what had happened that terrifying day as clearly as if only a week had passed, and not over one hundred fifty years.

 

But the lives of dwarves are long compared to the lives of Men, and there were none alive in Laketown who had seen that day.  Indeed, three generations had passed and the story had become for many just that - a story.  Their daily lives were filled with the arduous task of staying alive.  They did not waste time worrying about a dragon even their grandfathers had never seen.

 

And then Smaug descended.

 

The memory of chaos and fire stayed with Bofur the rest of his life.  Years later, whenever he thought about those horrifying moments he could only conjure up brief, flashing images, as if his mind had recoiled against the task of remembering things more clearly.

 

He saw the sky blazing as brightly as day, and the far end of the town explode into flame.

 

He saw Tauriel grab Bard’s daughters and throw them down the narrow ladder to the lake below just as his son darted out the front door and into the carnage.

 

He saw Fíli sweep Kíli up into his arms and run towards the ladder, practically tossing his brother down after Tauriel and the girls.

 

He saw Óin’s craggy face, his eyes as wide as saucers, illuminated in orange and red as the fire swept closer to the house.

 

And through it all, the screaming and the smell of burning flesh filled his senses and threatened to overwhelm him entirely.

 

Then Smaug roared, and Bard’s daughters screamed and covered their ears as the house rattled above them.  They were all huddled underneath it, crowded into the boat, watching as the town burned around them but helpless to escape further for fear of catching the dragon’s eye, or drowning if the boat capsized.

 

In those endless, terrifying moments floating in the water, time came to a stuttering halt.  The terror-induced speed with which they had all escaped to the boat was gone and now they just floated, waiting to live or to die.  Bofur's arm was around Óin, drawing him in close, and his other arm was stretched out, grasping Tauriel's back.  He bent his head to press up against her spine, not caring that he barely knew her, wanting only to cover himself with others, and cover them in return.

 

He had never been so frightened.

 

He thought back to that night in Bag End, when he had spoken so derisively of Dain and the others for refusing to aid their quest, and Thorin gently _(so gently!)_ reminding him he had not been there that day, had not seen the unbridled might and ferocity of the dragon.

 

_Thorin._

 

His eyes welled up.  It seemed impossible they were still alive.  In all likeliehood they had woken Smaug searching for the thrice-cursed Arkenstone.  Perhaps it had even been as they entered the mountain itself - who was to say the secret door had not led them straight into the mouth of the wyrm?

 

Smaug roared again, and this time Bofur moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting to see another Man burning, or hear another scream of terror and agony.

 

_We have done this,_ he thought wretchedly.   _This is our fault, this death raining down around us all.  Why could we not have just left well enough alone?   There is no prize worth such destruction.  And we are not the only ones paying the price._

 

A massive blast of air and shocking heat, a ferocious wind, swept over them, and the house above them creaked alarmingly.

 

_Please,_ prayed Bofur.   _You have not listened yet, but I beg you - do not kill these children.  Take me and Óin if you must but please, let them live.  My boys, too.  Let them live._

 

_My boys._

 

And just like that, it was over.

 

Smaug shrieked so loudly Bofur’s teeth rattled in his head.  Then there was a breath of silence and suddenly a massive whoosh as he fell like a stone out of the air and crashed into the lake, his body smashing down and flinging water in all directions, drenching much of the fire and leaving in its wake a smoldering wreck where once had been a town.

 

“Papa!” cried the older girl, rocking their boat precariously as she tried to rise up to see.  “Papa killed the dragon!”

 

The younger one began to weep, great heaving sobs that made her soon grow hoarse, and her elder sister knelt back down and held her tightly, whispering words of comfort in her ear.

 

Tauriel enveloped them both and lowered her head down upon theirs softly, throwing a quick glance back towards Kíli and Fíli.

 

The dwarves all looked to the mountain, and Bofur knew to a one of them what they were thinking.  Did their Company live, or had Smaug set fire to them all before turning his eyes towards Laketown?

 

As Óin moved towards the children, checking them to be sure they hadn’t been injured in the ordeal, Bofur crawled over to Fíli and Kíli and embraced them both, his hands gripping their shoulders until his fingers ached.

 

“Well, lads,” he said roughly, “it’s not every day you face a dragon and live to tell the tale.  Congratulations to you both.  First round is on me.”

 

Fíli smiled and Kíli laughed quietly.  “He took one look at Óin’s ugly mug and that was it for him,” he whispered, and they all laughed a bit wildly when Óin barked out, “I heard that, you ungrateful wretch!”

 

*

 

Rather than risk the burning and damaged walkways of Laketown, Bofur and Fíli decided to keep their ragtag group in the relative safety of the boat.  As the tallest, Tauriel took on the task of poling them out from under the small house, which looked in danger of imminent collapse, and out further onto the lake.

 

From that slight distance they could see just how terrible the devastation was.

 

The smoke was, in many places, too thick to peer through but what they could see left them all speechless.  Bodies littered the narrow walkways and the shallower depths of the water, and buildings had caved in or fallen over entirely, blocking off huge sections of the town and making it all but impossible to get around.  

 

They saw two women, completely trapped by burning rubble, screaming and beating the flames away as best they could.  Tauriel immediately corrected their course to try to intercept and rescue them, but long before they were able to reach them, their screams stopped and they fell out of view.

 

The smell was unlike anything Bofur had ever known, thick and hot and oddly sweet, with an underlying scent of blood and flesh.  It grew more powerful the closer they came to the town until it became so strong the younger girl moaned and retched over the side of the boat.

 

Bofur and Fíli shared a quick look while Óin and the girl’s sister tried to comfort her, and Fíli muttered, “Do you think it’s possible their father and brother could be alive in this...this _mess?”_

 

Bofur sighed, and rubbed absently at his face.

 

“I suppose anything is possible,”  he allowed.  “After the elf - “

 

“Tauriel,” she interjected tartly, looking over her shoulder at them.

 

“Apologies.  After Tauriel healed your brother, I would say that I can believe almost anything, but this…”  He looked over at the town again, ash and soot falling as gently as snow.  “This is madness.”

 

Fíli nodded and shuffled back a bit to sit next to Kíli.

 

Bofur and Tauriel stood in silence for a moment, both too exhausted and overwhelmed to speak.  

 

Finally Bofur said, “About that, miss.  Healing our kin?  It occurs to me we have not yet properly thanked you for that, what with all that happened so soon afterwards.  That lad is as dear to me as if he were my own so…” Bofur felt his throat close up and his eyes begin to burn, and he knew it was from more than the smoke.  “So thank you.  I am forever in your debt,” he finished gruffly.

 

She looked at him again, and smiled slightly.

 

“You are most welcome, Master Dwarf.  I am - “ he noticed her eyes flick back towards Kíli - “very glad I was able to help.”

 

“Bofur,” he told her quietly.

 

She smiled more broadly.

 

“Master Bofur, then,” she said.  She was quiet again for a moment, looking out, and then she added, “I cannot remember the last time I have been called “miss”.  Perhaps never.”

 

He barked out a short laugh.

 

“Well, that’s dwarves for you,” he said.  “We are nothing if not inappropriate.”

 

She turned to him, frowning, and said quietly, “You misunderstand me, Master Bofur.  I did not take offense.  In truth I find I...rather appreciate it.  It makes me feel, I’m not sure - _safer,_ somehow.  As if we are all here to look after one another.”

 

She looked out front again, poling their boat slightly north, around the worst of the carnage.

 

“I suppose that sounds silly,” she said, looking almost embarrassed.

 

Bofur found himself almost amused, and strangely touched.

 

“Ah, now, you’ll find there is little that sounds silly to me, Tauriel,” he told her.  “Just ask these fellows.  I never met a situation so serious I could not find a smile somewhere."

 

“Even here?” she asked him, her voice very low.

 

He looked back at their small group.  Kíli and Fíli had made their way back to sit with Óin and the girls, and Bofur watched as Kíli reached out to tap the little one’s chest, only to then tweak her nose when she looked down.

 

It took his breath away, to see Kíli tease her in the same way Bofur had teased him so many times.  And the effect was much the same as it had been back then - she gave him a watery smile and he grinned back at her, ruffling her hair.

 

“Aye,” he answered gently.  “Some times are more difficult than others, to be sure, but we are all alive and well, and there is hope we might yet find their father.  Hope goes a long way towards helping one smile.”

 

He looked up at her and was surprised to see her looking back at the group as well - at Kíli in particular, it seemed.  Her eyes were so warm and soft, not an expression he could ever recall seeing on an elf’s face before, and she was smiling.

 

_Well, what have we here?_ he wondered. _Perhaps she has a little hope of her own._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case:
> 
> Âzyungâl - Beloved
> 
> menu tessu - You are everything
> 
> Men lananubukhs menu - I love you


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur tries to find opportunity to tell Bilbo what he is feeling, and learns all is not as it seems with the hobbit.

Bilbo and Bofur left Drogo and Primula’s home after supper, politely declining their invitation to stay the night and choosing instead to enjoy the long walk home in the calm, warm air of evening.

 

The peaceful tranquility of the countryside was very soothing, and as they headed toward Bag End Bofur strove to push down the sadness and distress brought up by his musings in the garden.

 

They walked for a while, not speaking, just breathing the fresh air scented with lilacs and the smells of cooking.  The only sounds were of laughter from different smials and the occasional sheep bleating softly.  The ground was soft, so soft their feet barely made a sound as they walked, the sky darkening until only the moonlight illuminated their way.

 

As they turned off the Great East Road to begin heading north to Hobbiton, Bilbo spoke.

 

“Was today...all right?” he asked hesitantly.

 

Bofur looked over at him, startled out of his thoughts.

 

“Hmmmm?”

 

Bilbo cleared his throat.  

 

“I asked if today was all right,” he repeated, looking a little shy.  “Only I know I upset you with my careless comment, and you were gone quite a while out back...and now you’ve been so quiet...I suppose what I’m really asking is are you still put out with me?”

 

Surprised, Bofur said, “Bilbo, I’m not...why would you think such a thing?”

 

“Well," Bilbo responded tentatively, "I’ve been waiting for you to say something since we left, and you haven’t, and I started to worry that perhaps you hadn’t been quite honest with me when you said you weren’t angry or hurt over what I’d said, and…” he trailed off, now looking very uncomfortable.  “Oh, bother.  I hope I haven’t really made a mess of things!  I am worried, that’s all.  Worried I really have upset you.”

 

“Oh, Bilbo.”  Bofur stopped walking and turned to face the hobbit, feeling his heart squeeze a bit as he took in Bilbo’s tight, anxious expression.  “I am not upset or angry with you, I promise you.  And I had a wonderful day!  Your family was so kind to me, and that child…”

 

Bilbo laughed a bit.

 

“Yes, I’m well aware how you feel about Frodo,” he teased.  “It’s almost enough to - “  And then he stopped suddenly.

 

Bofur quirked an eyebrow.

 

“Enough to what?” he asked curiously.

 

Bilbo waved his hand dismissively, but Bofur thought he could see the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck.

 

_What in the world…?_ he thought.

 

“Almost enough to make one wonder why you do not still pursue your craft as a toymaker, is all I was about to say,” Bilbo finished awkwardly, but before Bofur could question him further Bilbo continued.  “And I do believe Primula was half in love with you, seeing you with Frodo.  I don’t know that Drogo has been the most... _natural_ of fathers.”

 

They both laughed a little, and Bofur said, “Well, give him time.  Besides, he’ll have a dozen more to practice on eventually, yes?  Isn’t that how it goes for hobbits?”

 

They laughed harder, and began to walk again.

 

The scenery became more and more familiar the closer they got to home _(and just when did I start thinking of it as ‘home’?_   Bofur wondered ruefully) and then Bilbo spoke again.

 

“I don’t mean to press, truly I don’t, and I hope you will honor our agreement and tell me to tend to myself if you do not wish to discuss it, but…”

 

Bofur sighed and looked over at Bilbo.

 

“They were rough memories today,” he admitted.  “The fight we had at the Master’s house, Smaug’s attack...terrible things, really.”

 

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to stop walking.  He dropped his face into his hands and shook his head, moaning, “Oh, Bofur.  I...I do not know how to tell you how much I regret what I said, for surely it was my words that spurred your recollection of such awful things."  He looked up again, his eyes forlorn and sorrowful.  "But please know how dreadfully sorry I am and how hard I will try in the future to think before I speak.”

 

Bofur reached out and gripped Bilbo’s arm gently, ignoring as best he could the way his fingers tingled and his heart leapt at the contact.

 

“I will hear no more of this nonsense, please,” he said gently but firmly.  “There is hardly a day that goes by I do not think of those terrible things, and it is never due to anything you have said or done.  It simply _is,_ and I’ll have you know it happens a damn sight less now that I have been staying with you here in the Shire, and that is the truth of it.  I should be thanking you, not standing here listening to an apology that’s not needed.”

 

“Well,” Bilbo said, looking pleased but flustered, “if you’re sure - “

 

“More than sure,” Bofur said with a smile.  “You have been a true friend, and I could not be more grateful.  These past few months...they have meant the world to me.”

 

“Me too,” Bilbo said quietly, smiling back.

 

He felt Bilbo begin to relax, and then realized belatedly he was still clutching his arm.  He dropped his hand, and looked down into Bilbo’s face, so kind and open, and he gathered all his courage about him.

 

“Bilbo,” he began but then Bilbo looked past him, over his shoulder and called out, “Ho there, Hamfast!  A bit late to be out and about, isn’t it?”

 

Turning around, Bofur saw Bilbo’s gardener and friend, Hamfast Gamgee, waving at the two of them as he headed down the hill in their direction.

 

A flicker of disappointment shot up and was quickly gone.  Bofur gave a small sigh and then steadied himself, forcing a smile that soon became more genuine.  He _did_ like Hamfast, even if he were currently a little disgruntled over his timing.

 

_It’s for the best,_ he told himself.   _I don’t know that past midnight on a back road in Hobbiton is the proper place for such a declaration as I’d been about to make._

 

And yet he could not help but feel something very important had just slipped through his fingers, never to come ‘round again.

 

*

Hamfast was more than a little drunk, so Bilbo and Bofur diverted course a bit to see him safely home.  Fairly shy and reticent in the light of day, Bofur was amused to note that Hamfast clearly became a different hobbit with a few drinks under his belt.

 

“And may I ask the occasion?” Bilbo asked him, winking at Bofur conspiratorially.  “Only it’s not like you to be stumbling home at all hours!  I do hope there is something you are celebrating.”

 

Hamfast laughed.  "Oh, yes indeed, Master Bilbo!  Yes indeed!  Some wonderful news!"  He suddenly listed to the side a bit, leaning heavily on Bofur and causing the dwarf to return Bilbo’s wink with a roll of his eyes.  

 

Bilbo covered his laugh with a cough and instantly Hamfast straightened up.

 

“Mister Bilbo, you’ll want to get that cough looked at," he chastised.  "Summer colds can be a serious thing!”

 

The utter misinterpretation made both Bilbo and Bofur burst out laughing, and Hamfast shushed them loudly, scolding, “Now lads, I know you’ve been having a good time tonight, but we must keep it down a bit, eh?  It’s quite late, you know, and most good folk are sound asleep.”

 

They only laughed harder at that, Bilbo’s shoulder brushing up against Bofur’s side as he pressed against him for support.  

 

Bofur was so intensely happy in that brief moment he wanted it never to end.

 

And then -

 

“Oi!  Whoever that is, keep it down!  There are folk trying to sleep, you know!”

 

Hamfast turned toward them, his face as mournful as a dirge, and said, “Oh, lads, you’ve done it now.  Didn’t I just warn you?”

 

“Hamfast - please have mercy!” Bilbo whispered, his entire body trembling as he tried to control his laughter.  “Do not say anything else, I beg you, or I shall never be able to stop!”

 

Hamfast nodded very seriously.

 

“Well, we don’t want that,” he whispered earnestly.  “Especially not with you so ill and all.”

 

Bofur groaned and Bilbo turned to bury his face in Bofur’s arm.

 

“Please, Bofur, make him stop!” Bilbo begged, looking up at him, his eyes filled with tears of laughter.  “Or whomever that is will come out and take a switch to us all!”

 

“A switch!” Hamfast all but bellowed.  “I’d like to see them try!  Have no fear, Mister Bilbo, I would never let any harm come to you, not in your condition!"

 

Bofur’s arm was squeezed and Bilbo’s eyes were now filled with pleading...and more tears.

 

“Ah, Hamfast,” Bofur said gently, nudging the little group forward into a slow walk, “You never did tell us what you were celebrating.”

 

The elder hobbit’s face broke open like sunshine.

 

“Bell is expecting,” he said simply.

 

Bilbo whooped, and then clamped a hand over his mouth.

 

Bofur laughed quietly and clasped Hamfast’s shoulder warmly.

 

“Congratulations, my friend,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice down despite his excitement and happiness.  “That’s the best news one could ever receive, I think.”

 

“Oh, Hamfast,” Bilbo said, having finally sobered in light of the news.  “I am so happy for you both!  You will be the most splendid parents, I just know it!”

 

Hamfast beamed at them both, and then said a bit guiltily, “Bell sent me out earlier.  Said I was making her nervous with my “nattering and hovering” as she put it.  Don’t know that she meant for me to...well, _indulge_ quite so much, but the lads at the pub were buying and, well, it did seem worth celebrating!”

 

Bofur smiled and said, “Never fear, Hamfast.  If she is anything like my law sister, I’m sure she had been asleep a long while at this point!”

 

That made them all laugh, and when they reached the Gamgee’s smial, Hamfast embraced them both, saying, “‘Tis truly providential I met up with you both.  I can scarcely think of a more loyal friend and neighbor to share my good news with than you, Mister Bilbo.”

 

“Well, now...” Bilbo said, looking awkward but very happy.

 

“And you, Master Bofur,” the hobbit continued, turning to the dwarf.  "Your time here with us has proven you to be a stalwart fellow, and I cannot tell you how grateful we all are to you for making Mister Bilbo smile again."

 

"Hamfast - " Bilbo said hesitantly.

 

"Now, Mister Bilbo, you know as well as I how true it is," Hamfast continued firmly.  "You have not been yourself since you returned from your travels.  Those who care for you noticed it right away.  And since Master Bofur here has come, you seem more your old self again, relaxed and content - no, more than content.  You seem _happy._  And it's done Bell and I a world of good to see it, yes it has."  He smiled widely at the dwarf, and reached out to clap his shoulder.  "So thank you, Master Bofur, for helping our friend find his smile again."

 

Bofur looked down at Bilbo, and was startled and warmed to see him looking back, a small smile on his face.

 

"It's - " He stopped and cleared his throat. "It's been my great honor and pleasure, Master Gamgee, I assure you.  Bilbo has always been a most loyal friend and I'll tell you honestly I have found as much peace in his company as you say he has found in mine.  Perhaps we are what the other has needed."

 

The air between them felt thick and heavy with his words, full of a promise and a potential yet unknown save but one thing - he knew here, with Bilbo, he had found his home.

 

And just like that, the moment was over.

 

Hamfast slapped him on the back, and brayed, "Well said, Master Bofur!"  He quieted down at Bilbo's urging only to add, "I couldn't agree more!" in an overly loud whisper.

 

They congratulated him one more time and then turned to head home to Bag End.

 

*

 

The walk was not long, and Bofur was too caught up in his thoughts to make conversation.

 

The revelation that Bilbo too had been unhappy came as a shock to him.  He knew enough to know Bilbo was considered quite eccentric for having run off to follow the Company on their quest, and that his reception among many in hobbit society was less than ideal, but he’d had no idea that his friend had been acutely miserable in any way.  The thought made his heart almost ache, and he felt a fierce possessiveness rise up within him, snapping and growling at any who would dare be unkind to Bilbo.

 

He smiled to himself, thinking _I have not yet even told him how I feel and yet I would stop at nothing to defend him from all harm, be it from words or deeds.  Does my foolishness know no boundaries, or shall I forever behave like a nervous child around him?_

 

He chanced a quick look over at Bilbo, and found the hobbit glancing back at him.

 

Bofur could not help but smile warmly, and Bilbo smiled back before looking away quickly.

 

They continued to walk through the night, a comfortable silence between them.

 

_Tomorrow,_ Bofur thought determinedly. _I shall tell him tomorrow._

 

He was ready for a new chapter to begin.  He only hoped Bilbo was too.

 

*

 

The next morning Bilbo rose first, as he often did, and set about slicing bread and setting out butter and jam for first breakfast.  The sound of the hobbit’s puttering drifted into Bofur’s room, and brought a small smile to his face.  There were no windows in the bedrooms of Bag End, a purposeful part of the design, a way to make it easier to sleep as late as one wanted, and as a dwarf Bofur found himself absurdly grateful for their races’ similarity in this regard.

 

He dressed quickly and after a quick stop in the neatly appointed washroom, with the smart, newly built shelves (a thing Bofur always noted with satisfaction) he entered the kitchen in time to see Bilbo finishing up his breakfast, standing over the sink.

 

“And where are you off to this morning so early?” the dwarf asked, a little disappointed, for clearly Bilbo was a hobbit on a mission.  Most mornings found him occupying himself around the smial or his garden clear through to after luncheon - it was most unusual that the hobbit not even take the time to sit and eat properly at the table.

 

Bilbo turned and smiled warmly at him, and Bofur felt his insides flutter a bit in response.  

 

“Good morning!” he said cheerfully.  “And how did you sleep after our walk last night?”

 

Bofur chuckled a little as he sat at the kitchen table and helped himself to a bit of the bread and jam.

 

“Like a rock,” he admitted.  “I don’t think I moved a single time.  Feel quite good this morning, I will tell you that.”

 

“Excellent!” said Bilbo.  “I knew that walk would do us both some good.  The summer air in the Shire is without equal I’d say, and since I am one of very few hobbits to know the difference, you know my word is good as gold.”

 

Bofur raised his eyebrow questioningly.

 

“A dwarven expression if ever I’ve heard one,” he said.

 

Bilbo laughed and brushed the crumbs from off the counter into the sink.

 

“It must be the company I’ve been keeping,” he said with a wink.  “Next thing you know I’ll be throwing dishes about and sneezing into literal pocket squares.”

 

“Oi!” retorted Bofur.  “I’ll have you know that was my favorite tunic, and yet I did not hesitate to help a comrade in need!”

 

Bilbo’s answering smile had Bofur gripping the table in an effort to keep from launching himself up over it and tackling Bilbo where he stood.

 

“A truer friend I’ve never had, to be sure,” Bilbo said softly, and they regarded each other across the kitchen for a long moment.

 

Bofur broke the silence, choosing to first address the concern he’d had since the previous night.

 

“Bilbo,” he began, a little uncertainly.  “I wanted...well, I wondered...what Hamfast said last night.  About you not being yourself after you returned home?  You have never mentioned any of this.  What did he mean, saying such a thing?”

 

Bilbo sighed, and folded his arms across his chest.

 

“Hamfast and Bell are worriers,” he said mildly.  “They make much out of nothing, really.  It was...difficult, I’ll grant you that, coming home to an empty smial.  I’d grown rather used to you all, the noise and the bickering and…”  His eyes grew misty.  “The laughter, I suppose.”

 

He huffed a little as he discreetly dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief,

 

“Being lonely was not something I’d ever been aware of feeling before, to be honest,” he continued quietly.  “But I came to care for you all, so much - “

 

His eyes flicked up to catch Bofur’s concerned gaze and he looked away again, blushing a little.

 

“You needn’t look so worried,” he admonished, pulling himself up straighter.  “As I was saying, it was a difficult transition and I missed you all very much, and what with Thorin, and Fíli and Kíli too, being gone, well…”  His eyes welled up again.  “To come home alone was a bit much, that’s all.”

 

Bofur felt his own eyes begin to sting.

 

_That he could find it in his heart to weep for Thorin after all he suffered at his hands,_ Bofur thought in amazement.   _How remarkable he is._

 

_How I love him so._

 

Bofur took a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak and then Bilbo said, “Hang it all!  I’ve gone and gotten us both all out of sorts and now I will be late if I don’t hurry!”

 

Bofur sighed, and tried mightily to appear interested rather than crestfallen.

 

“Late for what?” he asked politely.  “You have not yet told me why you’re up and out so early this morning.”

 

Bilbo took one last sip of his tea before beginning to wash out the cup.  Without thinking, Bofur rose to go fetch the drying towel.

 

“There is a family meeting today,” Bilbo explained.  “Nothing terribly complicated or involved, just something that happens every few months.  We discuss our land holdings, any pending legal situations, and so on and so forth.  Quite boring, really, but as the head of my household I am expected to attend so…”

 

He broke off as he realized he’d been washing and handing dishes to Bofur without any thought.  He looked up and smiled broadly.

 

“Quite an efficient system we’ve worked out here, eh?” he said, laughing a little.  “I shall be very sorry to see you go, make no mistake.  Where else will I find such a well-mannered, thoughtful dwarf to keep me company this winter?”

 

Bofur somehow finished drying the last plate without dropping it.

 

“Well,” he said slowly, glancing over at Bilbo, “perhaps we can discuss that very thing.  When you return later.  You will be back for dinner, yes?”

 

Bilbo nodded, and grinned as he said, “I think that sounds like a fine idea.  We shall plan on it!”

 

Bofur smiled down at the plate in his hands and thought, _And if I miss this opportunity, well then - I suppose I don’t deserve him._

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur makes a devastating discovery.

The day was turning out to be bright and sunny, as days in the Shire so often seemed to do.  

 

After enjoying a pipe outside on the bench in the garden, Bofur picked his way through the plants themselves, reluctant still to touch anything without Bilbo there to guide him, but trying to recall what the hobbit had told him in their past mornings together about which plants were being grown purposefully and which were known as weeds.  Frankly, to Bofur they all looked the same and he had been shocked to discover that what he had considered to be one of the most beautiful flowers he had ever seen was in fact considered by hobbits to be undesirable.

 

“But they’re so lovely!” he had protested.  “That yellow color is almost without equal in any other flower I’ve ever seen.  And look how beautiful they are covering that hillside, making the whole thing glow almost golden.”

 

Bilbo had been nothing short of apoplectic.

 

“Bofur, those are _dandelions,”_ he’d almost hissed.  “And any hobbit worth their salt removes them as quickly as they can appear.  They are a blight on the countryside, choking the dirt and making it harder for anything proper to grow.  They are not planted, they simply - "  He cut off, struggling to find the right word to express his disgust - _“sprout up_ wherever they please!  Nasty little things.”

 

And with that, the hobbit had turned on his heel and huffed all the way back into Bag End, leaving Bofur alone and bemused in the garden.

 

And now he stood in the midst of Bilbo's cheerily blooming flowers, trying to decipher friend from foe.

 

“This one a rose...this a chrysanthemum, I believe...and both are by design…”  He muttered to himself as he paced about.  “And another he’s planted, a...hmmm...a - drat it all, it’s right on the tip of my tongue - ahhh...persimmon!  That’s it, a persimmon…”  

 

He moved farther in and squinted a bit, fixated on a specific pair of blooms.  “And here is where I am often confused.  Two pretty purple flowers, and one of you pleases Bilbo and one of you definitely does not...let’s see…”

 

He knelt down for a closer look.

 

“I’ll venture a guess that you,” he gestured to the plant on his left, “are the intentional addition and that you are what he calls _aster_.  And you, you little bugger,” to the plant on his right, nestled in amongst the mums, “are _thistle,_ which would make you a weed.”

 

He stood, triumphant, and decided then and there to make a little list of what he had identified so that he could show Bilbo upon his return and see how many he had guessed correctly.  Balin had told him all those years ago when he was first learning to read that writing things down helped one remember them that much more easily, and over time that had often proved sound advice.

 

The only paper Bofur had ever seen in Bag End had been in Bilbo’s own room.  He came back inside, carefully removing his boots, and strode down the hall towards the bedrooms.  Arriving at Bilbo’s door he hesitated, his former enthusiasm waning a bit as he confronted the issue of entering his friend’s private room without his express permission.

 

His hesitation was soon trumped by his excitement to prove to the hobbit that his efforts were not falling on deaf ears and to ingratiate himself in any way that he could.  Besides, Bilbo had told him at the beginning of his stay that he was to make himself at home, and surely that included searching out whatever resources he might need for whatever project he found himself embroiled in.  At this very moment that included a quill and some paper.

 

He nodded decisively and pushed open the door.

 

*

 

He had been shown Bilbo’s bedroom before, of course, though not his first time in Bag End - that night had been rather too chaotic for a tour; but in the weeks and months since he’d been staying with the hobbit he’d seen it many times, albeit at Bilbo’s invitation and always for a brief, specific reason.

 

The room itself was of a good size, larger than Bofur’s room but not tremendously so.  It was clearly the master suite of the home, furnished sparsely and yet each piece was magnificent in its own way.  The bed was large for hobbits, even a hobbit couple, and the dresser had a lovely mirror seated on top, as well as a pitcher and bowl for washing.

 

The desk was truly something to behold.  Bofur knew Bilbo was writing the story of their quest and had in fact been an author before they had ever met him.  There were stacks of books throughout the smial and the bedroom was no different.  A large stack sat next to the bed, and another next to the desk.  The desktop had been neatened up and there, right in the middle, Bofur saw a conveniently laid quill, ink pot and sheet of paper.   _Perfection,_ he thought.   _I shall be out of here in no time at all._

 

And then his sleeve caught and knocked over the ink pot.

 

He righted it in the blink of an eye, but not quickly enough to save the paper.  Sighing, he sat on the small desk chair and carefully folded the paper up so as not to spill the ink anywhere else and began to carefully search the desk for another sheet.  The top little desk compartments were not large enough to hold any so instead he opened the middle drawer, which seemed to him to be the logical place to put one’s extra paper.

 

Inside he found what he was looking for.  He replaced the sheet he had ruined and pulled another sheet out for his list.  As he rose to leave, his eye fell to the left side drawer, lower and much deeper than the drawer in which he'd found the paper.  It had been left slightly ajar - likely by accident, as the rest of the room was almost eerie in its precision.

 

He reached out to push it shut and noticed his name.

 

He hesitated, much as he had before entering the room in the first place, his hand hovering over the drawer.  A powerful wave of curiosity rose up in him, its strength and sharpness taking him completely by surprise.

 

_What on Arda,_ he mused, finally lowering his hand.

 

He wanted to see what it was.  He had no business looking into Bilbo’s private things, and while he knew this full well, he wanted to anyway.

 

Another moment passed, and then he pulled the drawer open.

 

*

 

It was a stack of letters.

 

There were more than two dozen of them, never sent, all of them addressed to Bofur of Clan Broadbeam, formerly of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company, in the kingdom of Erebor.

 

Each envelope displayed Bilbo’s neat, very precise handwriting.

 

_So many...and none ever sent…?_

 

Baffled, Bofur pulled the small packet out of the drawer to study them more carefully, drawing his thumb over the stack absently, barely registering the way they all flipped past as he repeated the gesture over and over.  It was a stalling mechanism, while he took a moment to think.

 

That there was something monumental in the letters seemed obvious, otherwise surely he would have received them in Erebor long ago.

 

He could not fathom what could be in them that was so startling Bilbo had decided to keep them secret, but he knew one thing - to proceed further and actually _read_ them would be a terrible betrayal of his friend, and would change what was between them forever, even if Bofur never told Bilbo what he’d done.

 

He sat, his thumb flipping past the envelopes, the sound of the paper rasping nearly drowned out by the sound of Bofur’s heartbeat thudding in his ears.

 

He wondered if they were in the order in which Bilbo had written them.

 

He wondered if he were really and truly going to read them.

 

_But they were written to me!_ his mind cried out.   _So they are mine to be read, after a fashion._

 

Another part spoke up sharply.

 

_If he had wanted you to see them, he would have sent them to you,_ it scolded.   _Put them back.  Put them back before it’s too late._

 

_What is seen can never be unseen._

 

“True.  That is very, very true,” he whispered, and then he pulled the first letter out of the bundle and opened the envelope.

 

*

 

_Dear Bofur,_

_I can hardly believe I am doing this, but I have been back home in the Shire for only a week, and find I cannot stop thinking of you.  I have finally decided to write to you, although I will never have the courage to send this letter, because I desperately need a way to make known what I feel for you, lest it consume me entirely._

_I love you._

_There, I’ve said it.  I’m out with it at last._

_And now that I am, I find there is some small satisfaction to be found in confession, even if it is only to myself.  Odd, I know, but I have kept this inside for so long it feels almost as if a weight has been lifted off my heart._

_I know full well it would have the opposite effect for you to hear it, and so it shall remain my secret.  I shall not burden you with my unwanted affection.  Having somewhere to set it all down shall serve as a confessor of sorts and I shall make my peace with this arrangement, never fear._

_Look at me, writing as if you will ever read this!  As if we were speaking to each other._

_How I long to do just that, speak to you, see your face, that face that I see whenever I close my eyes.  Oh, Bofur, I fear I have loved you since the beginning of our quest, perhaps even since the very first day.  I know you loved Thorin, and it was evident to any with sense that he adored you as well, and yet I cannot help myself.  Your kindness and humor, your gentle spirit, all that you are sets my very soul on fire and I want nothing but to hold you, to soothe your sadness and offer myself to you, in whatever capacity you will have me._

_Forgive me my selfishness, as I know that is not how dwarves love.  I am a hobbit, and we love just as fiercely, so I understand to my very core that you will never love me back, that what I long for is impossible._

_And yet my heart wants you so desperately...I shall try to soothe it with this one-sided correspondence._

_Anything is better than nothing at all, wouldn’t you agree?_

_All my love,_

_Bilbo_

*

 

Bofur sat still as stone at Bilbo’s desk, staring at the letter in his hands.

 

_It cannot be._

_It...it just cannot be._

 

Bilbo, sweet, supportive Bilbo, who had grown so very dear to him, was in _love_ with him?  And had been all this time?  

 

Bofur’s hand drifted up to rub at his chest, his mouth dry and his head spinning.

 

Bilbo had loved him throughout the _entire quest?_  Through the trolls and the orcs, through Mirkwood and the dungeons and the chaos of Laketown?  Through the madness that had been Erebor, when Thorin had almost _killed_ him, through the battle and the terrible, terrible aftermath?

 

His eyes began to burn and before he knew what was happening he was weeping, tears rolling down his cheeks to wet his moustache and chin.

 

He pushed away from the desk and stood, wiping his face absently on his sleeve.  

 

And before he could stop himself he reached down, pulled the next letter out and began to read.

 

*

 

_My dear Bofur,_

_Well, it has been two days since last I wrote.  That is how long I was able to last._

_Silly, isn’t it? You will never read any of these and yet I feel so much when I write to you - shy yet passionate, and full of such longing you cannot imagine.  Or perhaps you can.  I do not know much of your life before our quest, only that you and Thorin had been lovers for a long while prior to the beginning of it.  I suppose it is possible that before you came into each other’s lives you once felt as I do - intoxicated by someone you could never have, who would never love you back.  Possible but not likely.  Hobbits do not have Ones, at least not in the way many dwarves believe in, but we are loyal and steadfast to the ones we choose and many times even death will not break that bond.  It is not so unusual for lovers parted thusly to find love again, but neither is it common._

_I understand with dwarves it is nearly unheard of._

_I remember when we were in Rivendell, and you danced on Lord Elrond’s table while the other cheered you on.  I could hardly take my eyes off you, you were so full of life and merriment and merely being near you was enough to make my heart sing._

_And then I saw Thorin._

_Bofur, I tell you now - the way he looked at you that evening is the way I would sometimes see my father look at my mother, and when she would catch him looking at her that way...well.  She would blush and falter a bit, but she would look back at him the very same way, and he would smile so widely and warmly and I would feel the air between them nearly vibrate.  Suffice to say if there was a way for them to get me out of the smial for a time, they would do whatever they could to make that happen!  As I grew older I learned it was best to make myself scarce when I saw them like that.  It was awkward and uncomfortable, to be sure, but also strangely satisfying, to know my parents loved each other so deeply._

_It made me yearn to love someone that way someday, and be loved the same in return._

_I know now that is not to be my fate and yet I cannot regret anything.  Knowing you and being your friend on our grand adventure was worth a lifetime of loving another, I promise you that.  Even though you will never feel the same, I shall keep your memory close, and imagine that you regard me in the same sweet, hungry, burning way I remember seeing in Thorin’s eyes that night in Rivendell._

_All my love,_

_Bilbo_

*

 

_Thorin._

 

The name was like a slap in his face, and Bofur felt his entire body tense up.

 

What in Mahal’s name was he _doing?_

 

For the first time in weeks he was ashamed, even horrified at the feelings he held for Bilbo, never mind how his mind was spinning with the knowledge that Bilbo...by the Valar, that Bilbo had _ached_ for him, all these years.  Their entire quest and beyond - the hobbit had loved him so ardently and still had kept silent the entire time, had given Bofur no clue, not even after all this time living with him in Bag End.

 

_How could he have said anything?_  he asked himself, exasperated.   _He knows of your love for Thorin.  He knows…_

_What?  That I can never love another?_

 

Bofur groaned and buried his face in his hands.

 

_“Do not be afraid, brother...choose love and follow where it leads you.”_

 

Dís’s words were like a balm on his wounded soul...and still he felt so terribly, terribly guilty, for the first time in a long while.

 

_Perhaps because you see now that even Bilbo has the sense to know this is not right,_ he thought miserably. _And he is not even a dwarf._

 

His frustration and despair began to boil over and he had to set the letter he was holding down lest he crush it in his anxiety.

 

_But he loves me!  As I love him!_

_Am I not allowed to be happy?  For the rest of my life am I to mourn a ghost?_

_“I will never believe love can make you less than what you are.”_

_What I am is the damaged lover of Thorin Oakenshield, rightful King Under the Mountain,_ Bofur thought.   _For so long I wanted nothing more than that.  But now...now I long to be the partner of Bilbo Baggins, to live in sunshine here in the Shire.  I long for his face to be the first thing I see upon waking and the last thing I see before I fall asleep at night._

 

_I want to love him, and be loved by him._

_Is that possible?  Is it possible to be both?_

 

His head was reeling, and whole world felt turned upside down.

 

He pulled himself back to the present and looked down again at the stack of letters.

 

_For so long,_ he marveled.   _And I never knew._

 

His hands shook as he began to rip open each envelope and read every word Bilbo had written to him in secret these past five years, the tiny protesting voice in his head finally silenced by Bilbo’s words.

 

_I loved you even more after your kindness in the mountain cave, if that is indeed possible._

 

_Seeing your face beaming at me as Thorin finally embraced me as a friend made me feel as if I could fly, even without the aid of a giant eagle!_

 

_never knew such desperation and terror before Mirkwood, when I feared I would not find you in time to save you._

 

_humbled and overwhelmed by your capacity to find the goodness in everyone._

 

_I hunger, I burn for you._

 

_I love you._

 

Page after page of beautiful, heartfelt, romantic words, all directed towards him and each letter growing more heated and passionate than the one before.

 

Finally, he reached the last letter in the bundle.

 

_My dearest love,_

_Forgive my addressing you in such a manner.  It is what I have always dreamed of calling you, if you were mine and I were yours._

_I had hoped this strange correspondence would soothe me in some way, ease the suffering of my heart and help me bear not being part of your life._

_It has instead only intensified my emotions and proven to me that a life without you in it is one I no longer wish to live._

_Shall I tell you here the sort of things I have been too much of a coward to even write down before?  Shall I tell you how I long to feel your hands, so strong and powerful, in my hair, pulling my head up to your lips?  How I dream of grasping your face in my hands and kissing you until you can do nothing but moan and beg me to continue?  How I want nothing more than to taste you as I bring you to completion with my mouth, and feel you move within me, your hands on my hips, guiding me, caressing me, loving me?_

_Oh, Bofur, see what you do to me._

_Hobbits are meant to live in the Shire, not in a cold mountain kingdom half a world away, and yet if that is where you are, it is where I shall call home from now on._

_Better a life with you in it, in any small way, than a life of emptiness alone here in Bag End._

_There._

_I had not truly realized I had come to this decision, but I think I have._

_And now that I have given shape and formality to it, I feel so much lighter.  It’s rather remarkable, actually!  My mother always told me that’s how you would know you’d made the right choice - by how you felt afterwards.  If you still felt uneasy and uncertain, best go back and consider further._ _But if you felt at ease and confident, pleased with your choice, then chances were you had chosen wisely._

_And that is how I feel - finally, finally at ease, after all this time.  What a relief!_

_Just the thought of seeing you again after all this time has my heart pounding nearly out of my chest with excitement!  I know, I know - you know nothing of how I feel and even if you did you would not reciprocate, but still, I cannot help myself.  I think of your eyes, so warm and rich and soft, and your beautiful smile, a smile I’m sure has not been seen very often since the battle._

_I shall make it my mission to uncover that smile as best and as often as I can.  That will be enough for me._

_Until I see you again in Erebor, my sweet love._

_Yours,_

_Bilbo_

 

“Bofur?”

 

Bofur’s head shot up as Bilbo’s voice rang out through the smial.

 

“Bofur?  Are you home?”

 

He could hear the hobbit moving through the smial, the sounds of him hanging his coat and setting down the food he had inevitably purchased nearly roaring in his ears.

 

He leapt to his feet, frantically thinking to leave the bedroom before he could be caught, and then saw the letters he had read and scattered across the desk.  

 

There was no hiding what he had done.

 

“Bofur?  Where on earth have you gone to?”  The last bit was muttered under Bilbo’s breath as he approached the bedroom.

 

Bofur sighed and called out, “In here, Bilbo,” and then steeled himself for whatever was to come.

 

*

 

Bilbo’s voice grew louder as he walked down the hallway.  It suddenly occurred to Bofur that the hobbit obviously thought Bofur had meant he was in the guest room, the one Bilbo had offered him, and not the master suite, because nothing in his tone indicated any sort of apprehension.

 

_And why should he think I am in here?_  Bofur thought wildly.   _He trusts me.  Why would he ever think I would be digging through his personal affects, reading his private letters?  Oh, Mahal, what have I done?_

 

He clapped a hand over his mouth to stop the dark wave of laughter from bubbling out.

 

“Everything today went as well as to be expected,“ Bilbo called out as he drew closer.  “Lobelia was in rare form but she took a step back when I told her - “

 

He stopped speaking abruptly as he passed the master suite and glimpsed Bofur standing in the middle of the room, his hand covering his mouth.

 

“Bofur?  What in...why are you in here?  Did you - “

 

He cut off again, and Bofur watching his eyes grow impossibly wide as he noticed the letters covering the desk.

 

“Are...are those…?” he whispered, and Bofur, still not trusting his voice enough to speak, nodded silently.

 

Bilbo’s eyes met his, and Bofur’s stomach sank to his toes as he saw the utter shame and horror dawning in the hobbit's face.

 

“How…?  Why?  Why would you - “

 

“I’m so sorry,” Bofur broke in miserably, his hands reaching out, palms up.  “So terribly, terribly sorry.  I don’t know what I was thinking, truly.  I only wanted...I just…”

 

Tears sprang into Bilbo’s eyes.

 

“I never meant for you to see those, Bofur!”  he said hoarsely, his voice beginning to thicken with anger.  “How could you do this?  You...you’re my friend!  My guest!”  HIs voice rose, becoming almost shrill.  “How could you _do_ this?”

 

Bofur cringed.

 

“Bilbo, I’m sorry.  Please believe me, I never meant to hurt you - “

 

“Well, you have!”  Bilbo cried back.  “You’ve more than hurt me  - you’ve betrayed me.  You’ve _deceived_ me!  I trusted you!  Trusted you in my home!  And _this_ is what you do?”

 

Feeling almost faint with anguish, Bofur could not catch his breath, and his heart ached wretchedly as he watched Bilbo cover his face with his hands and begin to weep so hard he could no longer speak.

 

“Bilbo,” he began but the words dried up in his throat.  There was nothing to say beyond an apology and even that was a pittance in the face of such suffering.

 

_And all because you could not leave well enough alone,_ his mind reminded him.   _You’ve broken the heart and the trust of the one being in Middle Earth who has been nothing but kind to you, who opened his home and comforted you in your grief.  The one you claim to love._

_And this is how you repay him._

“Bilbo,” he tried again, his voice breaking as he tried to hold back his own tears.  “Please, is there nothing…” he swallowed hard and took a deep breath.  “Is there nothing I can do to make things right?”

 

Bilbo looked up at him, his eyes blazing with such fury Bofur gasped.

 

“Leave here,” he said harshly.  “Leave my home.  You are not the dwarf I thought you were if you could do such a thing.”

 

Bofur closed his eyes and lost his battle against his tears.

 

Dimly he heard Bilbo say, “I shall go out into the garden for a time.  When I return I expect to find you gone.”

 

He nodded mutely, his eyes still closed.

 

He heard Bilbo turn to leave and suddenly said, “Bilbo, wait - please.  I...I’m - “

 

The words turned to ash in his mouth.  He had no right, no right at all, after what he had done.  It was too late.

 

There was silence in the room for a heartbeat.

 

Then Bilbo said, “Just go.  You’ve broken my heart.  Isn’t that enough?”

 

When the sound of footsteps faded and he heard the door open and close again, Bofur opened his eyes and left Bilbo’s room to begin packing his things.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bit has been written for a long time now...it was part of my original idea for the story. I do hope it's satisfying...in a deliciously angsty way, of course!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Smaug's attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is primarily a flashback, but the first bit picks up directly after the end of the previous chapter.

He walked blindly through the Shire until nightfall, not knowing or caring where he was heading.  He just kept putting one foot in front of the other, and somehow he managed to keep going.

 

As the distance grew between him and Bag End, he felt his heart ache more and more until finally he was almost gasping for air, the pain was so acute.   The look of pain on Bilbo’s face was all he could think on, and the feeling of regret so sharp and biting on his tongue he felt nauseous.

 

When at last it became too dark to continue on, he simply sat, leaning against his pack, trying very hard not to think of the previous night, when he had been so happy and filled with glorious anticipation.

 

_This is only what you deserve,_ he thought wearily.   _We are made to love only once.  That is our lot, our destiny.  You reached too far and now look what you’ve done, what a mess you’ve made._

 

He looked up at the sky, and watched the stars flicker above him, and the clouds blow across the moon, obscuring it for a few moments before it would be revealed again, glowing softly.

 

He sat, and did not sleep for a long time.

 

*

 

They did indeed find Bard and his son alive and well, and the girl had been right - it had been her father’s black arrow, saved and handed down generations from Girion to him, that had slain the dragon and saved them all.

 

Their tiny group had continued floating on the lake, steering around the wreckage and moving in as close as they dared to the town to see who, if any, had survived, when suddenly the younger girl, who’d been curled up like a kitten against Kíli’s side, had leapt to her feet and shrieked, “Papa! Papa!!  Over here - we’re over here!” waving her arms wildly over her head.

 

Bofur had looked in the direction she was calling and had seen him - tall and imposing where before he had seemed defeated and worn, running toward the end of the dock as best he could given the obstacles in his way.  The boy followed close at his heels, and Bofur could see that the lad was crying.  He could hardly blame him, given what they had all just lived through.

 

Tauriel poled their boat toward where Bard had found to stand, and no sooner did the craft bump up against the creaking wood of the dock than the bargeman clamored on board, arms outstretched to snatch up both sobbing girls into a tight embrace.

 

He buried his face in their hair and began to sob himself, chanting, “You’re alive, you’re alive” over and over.  Bain stood on the dock with the tears Bofur had seen still coursing down his cheeks, his eyes looking older than time.

 

Bard looked up at Bofur, his eyes wet and puffy but filled with relief, and said hoarsely, "Whatever you need, for the rest of my life, ask and I will be there.  You and all your companions.  I will never be able to repay you for this - " he nodded down at the two girls weeping and clutching at him, at each other - "but I am at your service.  Thank you."  He looked around at each of them in turn, and then repeated, "Thank you.  You saved my life when you saved theirs."

 

Fíli reached his hand out and they shook, murmuring something Bofur could not hear, and then the moment was over.

 

Tauriel reached over to tie them loosely to the dock and then she climbed out, reaching a hand back for Bofur, who accepted the help gratefully.  He in turn aided in lifting Fíli out, and between the two of them they assisted Óin, who grumbled the entire time, and Kíli, who was only too eager to leave the boat behind.

 

Now that he had noticed something on the boat Bofur could not help but see the way Kíli made every effort to stand close by Tauriel, and the way she would look at him when she thought no one was watching.

 

Bofur was a bit nonplussed.

 

_Have truly I been so consumed with Thorin that I missed this happening under my very nose?_   he wondered, amused in a weary sort of way.   _Judging by how they are behaving with each other, it would seem so._

 

He shook his head ruefully, and realized he was not above rather hoping to be there when Thorin found out his younger nephew seemed to have set his sights not only on an elf, but one of Thranduil’s elves.

 

_Perhaps my perceived indiscretions will no longer be our King’s biggest concern,_ he thought balefully, and then felt ashamed of himself.  It seemed impossible Thorin still lived but even if he did, being cast off had changed nothing of how Bofur felt.  He loved Thorin, as much as he ever had, perhaps even more, because all at once such loved seemed incredibly important, almost imperative, even if it was currently being rejected.

 

_After all,_ Bofur reminded himself, _it is not as if I did not know what could happen, what I feared would happen._

 

_And should the worst come to the worst, well...there is no use regretting what you would not have done differently anyway._

 

*

 

The dwarves stayed two days, helping Bard and the other survivors rescue those who had been trapped but still lived, and retrieve the bodies of those who had not.

 

Tauriel chose to stay with them.

 

That more than anything else he might have witnessed told Bofur what he was seeing between her and Kíli was real.

 

*

 

The Master had survived the attack by hiding, much as they had, in the water underneath his enormous house.  

 

When he emerged, dripping wet and full of righteous indignation for being so, he focused his wrath on the dwarves; and as tirelessly as they worked to aid and assist the Men, so he strove to turn the town’s goodwill against them.

 

“It is their fault!” he would shout to any who would listen.  “Their companions were the ones who drove Smaug to destroy our homes!  The greed of the dwarves is to blame for all of this - “ and he would sweep his hands about him, as if that gesture could encompass the devastation.  

 

“I say we make them pay!  Squeeze every last coin from them and then drive them back to wherever they came from!"

 

There were those among the Men who felt as he did - who blamed the dwarves for what had happened and did not bother themselves with the smaller detail that Bofur, Fíli, Kíli and Óin had in fact been trapped in Laketown when Smaug attacked, much as they had.  Dwarves were dwarves and it was easier to assign blame to ones they could actually see than those presumed dead inside a distant mountain.

 

Bard silenced the Master and those who took his side by reminding them were it not for Bofur and the others, his daughters would likely be dead.  As the saviour of them all, his words held a weight the Master could not match and all but a very few were swayed.  The ruinous destruction all around them proved far more urgent than vengeance, in any event.

 

It was clear, at least to Bofur, that the Master was in no way satisfied with Bard’s words, and he knew it would be prudent to keep their eyes on him.  His troubled feelings about the man had only worsened in the aftermath of Smaug, and observing closely how he was far more concerned for his own well-being than he was for the people he had been tasked to govern and supposedly protect made Bofur sick with distrust and apprehension.

 

And through all this, the bodies of the dead continued to pile up until there was almost nowhere to put them.

 

*

 

It was hard, horrifying, heartbreaking work and it was not over when they decided they had to leave.

 

Fíli took Bard aside, and Bofur knew he was explaining to him that they would be back - but they first needed to go and confirm what had happened to the rest of their Company.  Not a single one of them believed any of those who had journeyed ahead to Erebor could possibly still live, but they had to go and see for themselves, and return their kin to the stone.

 

Bofur also suspected Fíli was pledging a large share of Erebor’s treasure to Bard to assist in the rebuilding of Laketown and he approved of that.  It was the right thing to do, and as the Heir it was well within Fíli’s power to promise such a thing.

 

They began the final leg of their journey to Erebor on the morning of the third day after Smaug’s attack.  

 

Tauriel had chosen to return to Mirkwood, a decision that concerned Bofur deeply.  He had heard enough the last couple of days to know she had left against Thranduil’s wishes and he was surprised to find he feared for her safety, returning alone to face his wrath.  But it seemed the more prudent choice, as joining them would only delay her inevitable return.

 

Kíli was clearly uneasy too - more than uneasy, he seemed fearful for her.  When the time for their departure arrived, Bofur tactfully turned away, pulling Fíli and Óin with him, and gave them a moment alone together to say goodbye.

 

When Kíli rejoined them, his eyes were red-rimmed and unhappy.

 

*

 

Bard agreed to take them across the lake, and from there they continued on foot.

 

Each of them was quiet, lost in their own thoughts, but Bofur knew of all of them only Fíli was suffering as he was, for Nori was among those they knew had been killed.

 

They had all lost kin, but to lose your One...that was a special torture, exquisite in its pain.  The Desolation around them seemed to pale in comparison to how empty and barren Bofur felt in his heart.  

 

He was startled when he felt a tentative hand on his arm.

 

Looking around he saw Kíli, his face so open and full of love and concern it made his eyes burn.  He looked away and said gruffly, “I suppose I should not be surprised that you have chosen an elf to give your heart to.  You have always seemed to enjoy making things as difficult for yourself as possible.”

 

Kíli laughed softly and said, “You do not fool me.  I know you are quite impressed with her, and that you alone among my family trust me to know what I am doing and to choose well.”

 

Bofur snorted and replied, “Just remember it does not matter one whit what I think.”

 

Kíli just smiled at him and said simply, “It does to me.”

 

*

 

They walked another long while in silence when Kíli spoke again.

 

“I know Uncle still loves you.”

 

Bofur stiffened immediately and glanced over at Kíli.

 

Kíli merely looked ahead calmly as he walked steadily onward.  His wound had healed almost completely - a long, jagged scar the only evidence it had ever existed.

 

Bofur looked ahead again, and took a deep breath before replying.

 

“I don’t know that that’s true, lad,” he said carefully, mindful of Kíli’s paternal love for Thorin.  “There are harsh words between us now.  Sometimes...the wounds are too great to ever heal.”

 

Kíli shook his head stubbornly.

 

“You are meant to be together,” he insisted, respectfully but firmly as well.  “You are each other’s match. I know he is...in a difficult place right this moment -

 

“If he even _lives,_ lad,” Bofur interrupted gently.  “You saw that dragon.  What chance do you think our companions had against that sort of might?”

 

Swallowing hard, Kíli shook his head again.  “I would know if they were dead,” he insisted.  “I would...I don’t know, _feel_ it somehow.  And I feel nothing!  Nothing that tells me they are dead, at any rate.”

 

Bofur reached out to grasp his arm.

 

“I pray to Mahal that you are right, sweet one,” he said softly.  “I truly do.”

 

A moment passed and then -

 

“He is being corrupted, and I fear for him if you turn your back now,” Kíli murmured, so low only Bofur could hear him.  “He forgets those he holds dear, forgets what is important in life - forgets everything except the absolute power and gold he now craves.”

 

“Kíli - “ Bofur began but Kíli pressed on.

 

“I don’t know if it is gold madness, or dragon sickness, or _what_ to call it.  It started too long ago to be as simple as that.  It's as if...this journey to Erebor itself has changed him, made him... _wild,_ somehow.  Covetous and hungry in a way I would never have believed."  He laughed a little, but it was a harsh sound.  "Perhaps there is truth to the notion that the line of Durin possesses a strain of madness.  Perhaps it has always been there in him...and so long as he remained in Ered Luin, where life is uncomplicated, and the possibilities more finite, there was no danger.”

 

Bofur continued walking, but every bit of his attention was riveted on Kíli.  He had never heard the young dwarf speak with so much insight and passion before, would not have thought him capable of it.  He was strangely proud but also dismayed, appalled that Kíi had any reason to be so wise about what was happening to his uncle.

 

“The moment we reached Bag End is when I saw him start to change,” Kíli confessed.  “The way he behaved toward you that night, _ignoring_ you - it was shocking.  It was not the Thorin I have known and loved every day of my life.”

 

“No,” Bofur managed, even though his mouth and throat were dry as parchment.  “No, it was not him that night, I’ll grant you that.”

 

“And after that, a little bit at a time, it has gotten _worse,_ has it not?  He's become indifferent and unfeeling, centered only on Erebor and the Arkenstone.  And woe to any who stand in his way.”  This last was said bitterly, and Kíli bit his lip and looked away.

 

Bofur finally stopped, and grasped Kíli's shoulders.

 

"He wanted only to _protect_ you, sweet one," he said.  "To keep you safe.  You couldn't travel with that wound!"

 

Kíli looked back at him, his expression dark.

 

"Is that why he told Óin to stay with me?" he asked quietly.  "And Fíli too?"

 

They looked at each other for a moment.

 

"And you?" Kíli said, even more softly.  "Is that why _you_ stayed?  Funny, I thought you had been left behind much as I had, like useless refuse that would only slow him down."

 

Bofur gripped Kíli's shoulders harder, his blood thrumming in his ears.

 

“How?” he asked urgently.  “How do you see so much?  I feel as you do, every word.  So tell me - what do we do?”

 

Kíli gripped him back and said, “We love him, as best we can, and hope he returns to us.  I don’t know what else to do, what else I _can_ do. Do you?”

 

Releasing his shoulders slowly, Bofur pulled him into and embrace and buried his face in the dark, unbound hair.

 

“No,” he whispered.  “I do not.”

 

*

 

It took them the entire day but by nightfall they stood in front of the Great Gate.

 

Bofur could not comprehend what he saw - the enormous statues reaching up into the sky, the scorch marks marring the mountainside.  It was beyond his ken, beyond even his wildest imaginings - not even Thorin’s stories could have prepared him for the reality of such splendor and destruction.

 

His heart sank further, and he knew if Thorin lived, it would be all but impossible to pull him back now that he was surrounded by the magnificence suggested by those impossibly large figures.

 

“By my beard,” muttered Óin, “I had not truly believed I would ever stand here again.”

 

“It’s...it’s…” murmured Fíli.

 

“Yes,” breathed Kíli.  “It is.”

 

All four stood for a time, gazing in silence at the gigantic door, framed by the imposing figures.

 

“How…” Bofur began hesitantly.  “How are we to get inside?  We have neither the map nor the key, and Durin’s Day is long past.”

 

Óin spoke up again.

 

“I remember well enough the route it showed,” he said.  “We can go up, see if they perhaps left it open…”

 

His voice trailed off as they all silently acknowledged what finding the door left open would likely mean.  If any had survived, they would almost certainly have shut the way so no others could follow behind them.

 

*

 

It took them almost until midnight, but they managed to safely climb to where Óin insisted the secret door had to be.

 

They found no sign of it.

 

Bofur’s heart began pounding when he saw what they imagined was the door obviously closed.

 

_Could it be…?_

 

Kíli whooped in excitement.

 

“You see?” he cried out in glee.  “What did I tell you?  They live!  They live and they have closed themselves inside!”

 

“Perhaps they closed the door behind them only to be trapped when Smaug was awakened,” Fíli said gently, resting his hand on his brother’s shoulder,  “or perhaps this is not even the correct place.”

 

Kíli shook it off impatiently.

 

“Uncle knows Erebor too well to let himself be trapped that way,” he insisted stubbornly.  “And Óin says this is it!  He remembers from the map!”

 

Bofur looked at Fíli and saw the same fear written on his face that he carried in his heart.

 

“Kíli,” Fíli started, calmly and evenly, the way one would speak to a spooked pony, “Óin has not been here in decades, and presumably has never been _here”_ \- he gestured around him - “at all.  We have no way to be sure we are even in the right _place,_ much less - “

 

Kíli's jaw tightened imperceptibly in that way Bofur knew so well.  It was a precursor to him losing his temper altogether and flying into a rage.  In this he was similar to his mother - hot tempered and sullen when questioned too hard.

 

Fíli noticed it too, and smoothly said, "But is no point in speculation I suppose, is there?  We are here now, so let us look around as best we can and then we shall proceed accordingly.”

 

Kíli visibly relaxed, and then slapped Fíli on the back in apology, leaning in to press their foreheads together.  They smiled at each other warmly, and as Bofur looked back and forth between the two of them he felt a tremendous surge of affection for them both.

 

_They are so magnificent, each in their own way,_ he thought.   _One fiery and reckless, and one tempered and thoughtful.  And they love each other so dearly, would walk through fire for the other without a second thought._

 

His eyes welled up as he remembered them doing just that mere days ago and he turned away quickly lest anyone see.

 

_They remind me of him so much,_ he mused, wiping his eyes discreetly.   _All that has ever been good and strong in him is in those boys._

 

It was a cold comfort, to be sure, but a comfort all the same.

 

*

 

It was decided, despite Kíli’s protestations, that they would wait until sunrise to explore further.  It was far too dark to do much of anything safely, and Kíli’s sour disappointment was mitigated a bit when Bofur took him aside and reminded him gently that Óin was far from young and the last thing they wanted after having lost so many was to injure him in a slip or fall that could have easily been avoided had they only waited for first light.

 

They curled up together, all four, for warmth, and Bofur listened as the sounds of first Óin’s and then Fíli’s breathing smoothed out and grew deeper and more even.

 

He smiled a little when, after quite some time, he did not hear the same from Kíli.

 

“You should try to sleep a little,” he said very quietly.  “Tomorrow will be difficult at best.”

 

Kíli sighed, and rolled over to face him.

 

“I cannot,” he whispered back.  “My mind is too full.”

 

Bofur smiled more widely and reached out to brush Kíli’s hair out of his face.

 

“With thoughts of the lovely Tauriel, I’ll wager,” he teased gently.

 

It was not so dark that Bofur could not see Kíli’s blush.

 

“Aye,” he agreed shyly in a whisper.  “I find I can think of little else, although I am wild to find Uncle and Bilbo and all the others too, of course.”

 

Bofur’s hand stilled a moment, and then he reached out his arms and Kíli obligingly slid over and rested his head on Bofur’s chest.  Bofur carded his hand through Kíli’s hair comfortingly, not trusting himself to speak.

 

Kíli hummed contentedly for a bit and then said softly, “You used to do this when I was small, do you remember?  You and Uncle were new, and you would come by and have dinner with us and we would insist you be the one to put us to bed.  And I would ask you to do this as I fell asleep.”

 

A great lump rose in Bofur’s throat at the memory of such peaceful, sweet nights; when his love for Thorin was fresh and glorious and love for his nephews was winding its way around his heart, pulling it tight and squeezing it each time he looked at their little faces watching him so raptly as he spun them some outrageous story or another.

 

He had loved them both almost from the first time he’d met them, but he would be lying if he said he had not always felt a special connection to Kíli, who alway tried so hard to be and do what was expected of him, but whose soul always walked a different path.  Thorin and Dís had loved him no less but were forever finding his peculiarities maddening and often a cause for great concern.

 

Bofur found them things to be celebrated and admired.  

 

With each step the lad took away from what was demanded of him he treasured Kíli even more, knowing his way would be more perhaps more perilous but that it would be undeniably _his,_ in a way Fíli’s could never be given his position as Thorin’s heir.

 

And he had promised himself he would always be a champion for him, in any way Kíli might need him to be.

 

So now he swallowed the lump in his throat, took a breath to steady himself and said softly, “I remember everything about those days, lad.  Is it too much to hope a story and a cuddle might work its magic on you now, even though you are so grown?”

 

Kíli huffed quietly, and whispered, “There is no harm in trying, I suppose.  And I am not too grown to admit I have missed this.  It was my favorite part of your visits, this.  You were more gentle than even Ma.”

 

A sob escaped Bofur at that, but tried to disguise it as a cough.

 

Kíli squeezed the arm Bofur had wrapped around him and said, “I’d like my story now, please.  And I want the best you’ve ever told.”

 

So Bofur told him a tale of a young dwarf prince, an archer, the greatest there had ever been, and how he battled orcs and spiders and trolls but all the while felt empty and unsatisfied, as if a piece of him was missing.

 

And then one day he met a beautiful elf, a warrior for her people - strong and fierce and proud.  And he knew he was lost, and he knew he was found.

 

Before he could get to the happily ever after, Kíli finally fell asleep.

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur finds his way to Ered Luin in the present, and is reunited with members of the Company in the past.

Sunrise in the Shire came early, and the air was chilly and crisp in the manner of autumn.  

 

Bofur sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily.  He had slept only briefly, and even then it had been fitful and restless.  His stomach rolled uneasily and he lay back down again with a groan, his head aching and his heart sick and sore.

 

After a time he sat up again, picked up his pack and carried on.

 

*

 

By noontime he had made his way to Michel Delving.

 

He sought out a tavern and holed himself up inside with an ale and a bowl of stew.  The ale was consumed in short order and another ordered while the stew sat and grew colder and colder.

 

By the fourth ale, the serving girl had taken the largely untouched bowl away, her eyes narrow and watchful.  Bofur was still sober enough to recognize that look, and reminded himself that as he had apparently decided to get good and drunk he’d best stay as quiet as he could.  It would do him no good to be thrown out in his condition.

 

The shadows outside lengthened as the sun set, and still Bofur sat and drank and tried to forget.

 

By the sixth ale he knew it would take a very long time before he did not see Bilbo’s anguished face every time he closed his eyes.

 

By the seventh he could not stop his tears.

 

By the ninth, he needed to be led to his room by the same serving girl who’d eyed him suspiciously five ales ago.  He could barely speak but tried nonetheless to tell her she was right to regard him that way, that he was a terrible soul and was not to be trusted.  He had betrayed his One, and then had betrayed the one he loved best in all the world.  

 

No amount of ale would change the truth.  He was selfish, unworthy, and he was a fool.

 

*

 

It was sheer lack of anywhere else to go that led him finally back to the Blue Mountains.

 

He no longer had any desire to visit there - indeed, since his betrayal of Bilbo he had no desire to go much of anywhere, but his recent time with Dís had made it clear to him that like it or not he had family who cared about him and to whom he owed a responsibility.  He could not simply disappear, never to be heard from again, as much as he longed to do exactly that.

 

He began to head northwest, no longer caring what happened to him, knowing that if he were set upon and killed along the way at least that would be an end to the suffering he seemed destined to endure for the rest of his days.

 

_Your own fault,_ his mind scolded when he dipped into self-pity.   _It is not our way to love again.  You should have left well enough alone._

 

Two weeks and three days after he left Bilbo’s home, and almost seven years after he left the first time, he arrived in Ered Luin.

 

*

It all seemed smaller somehow, diminished and less significant in the workings of the world.

 

He supposed having spent five years in Erebor, awash in its sweeping grandeur, had also served to make his native city feel unremarkable.

 

Nothing about it had actually changed, as near as Bofur could tell, but the colors were muted, the sounds muffled.  Bofur could not tell if that were due to his grief and guilt or his experience in far more magnificent and exotic places.  Either way, the city seemed small and grim.

 

He trudged along, head bowed, letting his feet carry him where they would, knowing he was drifting toward the home he had shared with Thorin.  He did not know what he hoped to find there besides painful memories and a wretched sense of loss.

 

He was not disappointed.

 

Despite Thorin’s status as King in Exile they had lived very modestly in a small, tidy house on the outskirts of the better part of the city.  The simplicity had suited them both, and Dís and the boys had lived around the corner, close enough to run back and forth easily but far enough away to offer him and Thorin a measure of privacy.  

 

Bofur felt a flicker of heat coiling in his belly as he stood in front of the little house and thought about their last night together in what had been their home for so long.

 

_bare skin and the smell of musky warmth filling his senses as his mouth opens up under the pressure of Thorin’s tongue running across his lips...a moan as he tugs Thorin’s braids, pulling him closer, ever closer, his hand gripping his hip and his leg stretching up and circling his waist, drawing him down, telling him yes and harder and always without saying a word_

 

He was so caught up in the strength and clarity of the memory he did not hear Dís behind him until she spoke.

 

“You look as if you have seen a ghost, brother.”

 

He snapped around, startled out of the past, and saw her looking at him, guarded and wary.

 

He could tell right away that she knew something was amiss.

 

“How - “ he began and she interrupted.

 

“Lanir saw you,” she said.  “He said he called to you, more than once, but you just shambled on as if you did not hear, like a spector.  He sought me out after that.  You gave him quite a fright, brother mine.”

 

Bofur gave a shuddering sigh, and felt the last of his strength and will flow out of him.  He stumbled a bit and then sat down hard on the stoop of his small house.  It took Dís shushing him and rocking him gently for him to realize he had been keening quietly, like a frightened child.  He took a breath and began to weep, his arms wrapping around her as if she could protect him from his misery.

 

“There, there,” she murmured as she held him.  “There, there.”

 

*

 

Bofur did not realize he had fallen asleep until he was woken by a small tapping sound.  Moving as little as possible so as not to disturb Kíli, who was slumbering on his lap, he turned toward the sound and saw a little bird tapping what looked like a small stone against the side of the mountain.

 

_Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks_

 

He bolted upright, so suddenly Kíli rolled off him and landed with a grunt on the ground.

 

The young dwarf reached up groggily to rub his head, muttering, "Oi, Bofur!  No need to push me!"

 

Bofur could only point mutely at the bird, who had stopped tapping and now looked at them both curiously.

 

Kíli rolled his eyes.

 

"Have you never seen a bird before?" he asked grumpily.  "All right, yes!  I see it!  Marvelous creature and all that...is that any reason to shove a fellow off you while he's sound asleep?"

 

Bofur laughed loudly, almost wildly, and finally found his voice.

 

"Thrush!  It's a _thrush!_  'When the Thrush knocks', remember?  From the map?"

 

Kíli grew still, and his eyes widened in comprehension.

 

"This _is_ the place!" he cried wonderously.  "Óin was right - the secret door is right here!  They must have - "

 

He suddenly dropped to the ground and began combing over it painstakingly.

 

Fíli began to stir, mumbling, "Brother, unless we are under attack, must you shout so?""

 

"The door," Kíli told him, barely looking up.  "It _is_ here.  I'm trying - "

 

Fíli snapped awake and looked up at Bofur.

 

"Here?" he asked disbelievingly, and Bofur nodded, grinning.

 

"I can scarcely believe it myself," he admitted.  "But Óin led us true."

 

The both looked over at the still snoring dwarf.

 

"And here he is, missing all the excitement,"" Fíli said with a laugh.  "Ho there, Kíli, have you found anything - "

 

"Here!"

 

Bofur and Fíli looked over at Kíli's excited shout.

 

"They were here!" he cried out.  "I can make out three different footprints - dwarven - and a strange one that must be Bilbo's."

 

He looked over at them, his eyes bright and happy.

 

"They made it inside, we can be sure of that," he said with a wide smile.  "And once inside I know Uncle would have kept them all safe from Smaug!  They're alive, I'm sure of it!"

 

He danced back over to where Fíli and Bofur stood and embraced them both, practically lifting them off the ground in his excitement.

 

"Now, all we need to do is find a way in ourselves and - "

 

A scraping noise startled all of them and they whirled around to see the side of the mountain moving, changing, as the secret door, invisible from the outside, was pushed slowly open from the inside.

 

" - not right, I tell you.  We don't know if - "

 

"Brother, calm yourself, please.  You'll do none of us any good if - "

 

By now the door had been opened far enough to reveal Balin and Dwalin, in the midst of what seemed to be an argument.  They were distracted enough by their words to not notice Bofur and the Durins until they almost knocked into them.

 

Then all of them froze.

 

"By my beard," Dwalin said slowly.  "Can it be - ""

 

"Dwalin!" Kíli exclaimed before he launched himself at the taller dwarf, hugging him tightly.  

 

Dwalin looked utterly shocked, his arms coming up around Kíli without thought, his face stunned.  "Kíli?  Is it - how...?"

 

Balin laughed and stepped forward to grip Bofur's shoulder and Fíli's arm, shaking them both.

 

"Oh, lads," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "you are such a sight for weary eyes.  Thank Mahal you are all alive and well."

 

He pulled them both into an embrace, and Bofur could hear Kíli happily chattering away to a still-shocked Dwalin, telling him what had happened to them, and how they had survived.

 

And through it all, Óin slumbered peacefully on.

 

*

 

After they finally roused the old healer, Balin filled them in quickly on all they had missed, and it was not an easy thing to hear.

 

"He is insisting we find the Arkenstone as quickly as possible.  With that he plans to rally the Seven Kingdoms to come to the aid of Erebor - "

 

"Under his rule," Dwalin cut in, muttering.

 

Balin shot him a look but did not contradict him.  Instead, he sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily.

 

"Aye," he admitted.  "Under his rule."

 

Fíli and Kíli looked at each other incredulously and then back to Balin while Bofur repeated what had been said to Óin.

 

"You cannot be serious," Fíli said.  "He wishes to _rule_ over all dwarves in Middle Earth?"

 

Balin nodded.

 

Óin cursed under his breath, and he and Dwalin shared a look.

 

"And if the Arkenstone is not enough to convince them..."  Balin’s voice trailed off, and he looked to Dwalin helplessly.

 

Bofur's heart sank.  If it was bad enough to render Balin speechless, he was not sure he wanted to hear it.

 

"If the Arkenstone does not convince them, then he will use any means necessary to _make_ them obey," Dwalin said grimly.

 

Bofur felt dizzy, and he gripped his head and squeezed.

 

_This cannot be happening,_ he thought desperately.   _How did things go so terribly wrong so quickly?_

 

He suddenly realized they were all looking at him.

 

"I - " he began and then stopped, utterly at a loss.  Balin, Dwalin and Óin looked as he felt - dismal and resigned, but then he looked at Kíli's open, hopeful face, and Fíli's quietly optimistic one.  

 

_For them,_ he thought.

 

"Well, then," he said with more strength than he felt.  "We shall have to do our best to change his mind."

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur decides what he really wants.

It took a long while for Bofur to get himself under control, and the whole time Dís just sat and held him, rocking them gently back and forth as they sat on the stoop of the house he’d shared with Thorin.

 

After a time, Bofur came back to himself enough to feel embarrassed and self-conscious about his behavior, and he disentangled himself and sat back, rubbing his face with his hands.

 

Dís sat and watched him, saying nothing, her face unreadable.

 

Bofur huffed out a small laugh.  “I feel I have wept three lifetimes' worth of tears since last I saw Ered Luin,” he said wanly.  “It’s so...unseemly and childish, but it’s the truth.  Life was so much simpler here, and I appear to be a dwarf who craves very few surprises and adventures.  In my experience they never improve your lot - they only break your heart.”

 

Dís sighed and said, “Bofur, to weep because your heart is breaking is one thing.  But I will hear no more of this self-pity, for that _is_ quite unseemly and childish.”

 

He gaped at her and then snapped his mouth closed when he realized it was hanging open like a fish on a line.  

 

“Now,” she continued briskly, “will you tell me what has happened to send you to me in such a state?  Because when last we met I had hoped it would be a good long while before you made your way here, and I had not thought to see you alone when you came.”

 

Her words pierced through his initial shock and he gave a shuddering sigh as he rubbed his hands across his face roughly.

 

_Time to confess,_ he told himself firmly.   _And let’s have no more weeping when she inevitably turns from you in disgust.  Sleep in the bed you’ve made._

 

And so he told her.  Everything.

 

*

 

When he was finished he risked a quick look into her eyes, searching for any hints to be found there.  It was a raw, vulnerable thing, to confess such a terrible infraction, and his entire body felt tight and sick with nervous anticipation as he waited for her judgement.

 

He sat very still and tried to breathe.

 

And then she gave him a small, sad smile and said very quietly, “I should have known you could not be trusted to look after your own happiness so easily, brother.  You seem determined to be forever unhappy, and if circumstances will not provide that for you, well, you’ve now proved you are more than capable of taking matters into your own hands.”

 

Bofur was stunned.

 

“I don’t...what...Dís - “ he tried to put together a coherent thought but his mind felt so jumbled and muddled.  He had expected many thing from her, but not this.

 

She sighed and grasped his hand tightly.

 

“Bofur,” she said carefully.  “What drove you to do such a thing?  I know full well how much you love Bilbo and yet not only have you kept that from him, you’ve broken his trust so enormously I don’t know that he will ever be able to forgive you.”

 

Bofur groaned and covered his eyes.

 

“If making me feel even worse than I already do was your intention,” he muttered sourly, “you may rest assured you have achieved your goal.”

 

A sharp prod to his side made him look up.

 

Dís was frowning at him sternly, and once she saw he was looking at her she poked him again.

 

“I have already told you once I will hear no more of this sort of talk.  It was _you_ who made this decision.  I will hear why and with no more useless self-recrimination, please.”

 

Bofur threw his hands up into the air, utterly frustrated.

 

“I cannot _tell_ you why!” he responded hotly, nearly shouting.  “Even while it was _happening_ I knew it to be wrong, so terribly, terribly wrong, but I could not stop myself.  Oh, Dís - “ His voice cracked with emotion as he remembered the heated words and declarations of Bilbo's letters.  “The things he wrote...about me, how he loved me, how he _wanted_ me, all this time, it...it set my blood on fire.”  He felt his face flush and his body begin to warm.   “I have been so consumed with thinking it wrong to love him, that it was a betrayal of Thorin, it had never even occurred to me that he could feel the same as I did...as I _do._

 

“I thought I would have to woo him, convince him I was worthy when I felt anything but...and then to find he has loved me so deeply for so long, that he was willing to give up the Shire to come to Erebor for me?  And to do what?”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “Merely be my friend?  Support me in my grief?  He thought nothing else could ever happen between us...and so I wondered if _he,_ a hobbit, felt that way perhaps I was wrong not to as well, and all the while I just kept reading and reading…”

 

His voice trailed off, and he shivered a little, feeling worn out and strangely empty.

 

“So there you have it,” he finished lamely. “The reason that is no reason at all.  I do not know how or why I could do something so terrible, but I tell you truthfully - I would give almost anything to make things right again.”

 

They sat still and silent for a moment and then Dís leaned over and draped her arm across his shoulders, squeezing him warmly.

 

“There is no going back from this, I’m afraid,” she said after a bit.  “There is no magic to undo the past and change poor decisions once they have been made.  If there were, our family might still be alive, yes?”

 

Bofur pulled her arm more tightly around him at that, and nodded.

 

“But such things are not within our power,” she continued.  “We can only move in one direction.  We can only move forward.  Are you willing to do that?”

 

Bofur glanced up, surprised.

 

“And what have I been doing all this time?” he asked, a bit peevishly.  “Thorin and the boys gone these past five years, a season spent with Bilbo in the Shire...and now here I am back in Ered Luin, so I ask - what have I been doing if not moving forward?”

 

She pulled away from him and sat back a bit so she could look him square in the eye.

 

“You have been existing,” she said plainly.  “Surviving.  I would venture to say you were _starting_ to move forward in the Shire but then something in you became afraid, and made sure you would need to go back to surviving.”

 

Bofur huffed impatiently.

 

“That makes no sense,” he argued.  “I had more than I could have ever hoped for, and even if Bilbo had _never_ loved me back I was happy, in a way I had not been in so long.  Why - “

 

“Because it is as you said,” she interrupted gently.  “You do not feel worthy of happiness, so you took firm steps to assure you could not be happy.  Do you not see it?”

 

Bofur frowned, opened his mouth, and then closed it abruptly.

 

“But - ” he began and then stopped, as images began to flood his memory.

 

_Bilbo’s hair, so bright and golden in the sun and his smile, oh his smile, how it lights up his entire face and when he laughs, the way he throws his head back and laughs from his belly, crumbs on his face, his eyes crinkled at the corners when he reads and skin so smooth and pale the smell of him like cinnamon and honey and a cozy hearth all I could want all I ever wanted_

_Perhaps we are what the other has needed_

_His eyes filled with shame and tears his voice so angry so sharp why why why Bilbo please just let me -_

_Bilbo has the sense to know this is not right and he is not even a dwarf_

_"I will never, could never, love another as I love you."_

_No_

_No nonono_

 

And then Dís's voice rose up strongly in his head.

_"I will never believe love can make you less than what you are."_

_But what do_ I _believe?_ thought Bofur.   _Do I believe I deserve to be happy?_

 

He breathed deeply, trying hard to clear his mind and listen to his heart.

 

_My One is dead, but I am not,_ he mused, his heart raw and aching.   _He was far from perfect but I loved him as best I could, and I know he loved me too._

 

_Can I now truly bear to do more than simply_ be? _Can I choose to finally move forward, away from Thorin and towards a new life?_

 

He thought of Bilbo, and despite his heartbreak, he felt a profound and bone-deep peace and a sense of coming home.

_...yes._

 

“Yes,” he croaked.  “Yes.  I see.  I do, I see.  And I _can._  Oh, Dís, please - I’m ready.”

 

She smiled at him and pressed her forehead to his.

 

“Brother, I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear that,” she said warmly.

 

*

 

Later, he would not recall how they came to be in Dís’s small, sweet house. He only knew he was so relieved to be there, in a place so full of fond and loving memories he could almost feel them all around him, like soft whispers.

 

He would remember sitting back on her cozy, worn sofa; a mug of tea pressed into his hands and a blanket covering his legs and bare feet.

 

He would remember weeping again when he thought of Bilbo’s stunned and devastated face.

 

He would remember Dís’s warm and gentle hands in his hair, stroking it gently as he began to fall asleep.

 

He would not remember that she sat up all night with him, letting him rest his head in her lap as he slept; or that she cried a little too for the way it reminded her of Fíli and Kíli when they were small...but that happened as well.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who has commented, left kudos or bookmarked this. It means so much to me and I am so very happy you are enjoying this!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and the others rejoin the Company in Erebor, and Bofur endeavors to convince Thorin to stand down.

Their reunion with the rest of the Company was warm but subdued.  The specter of Smaug and the destruction he had wrought hung over them like a pall, and Bofur could see that those who had been in Erebor when it had happened were burdened by a dreadful guilt.

 

All save one.

 

When Dwalin and Balin returned accompanied by Bofur, Óin and his nephews, Thorin nodded brusquely to Óin, embraced Kíli and clasped Fíli on the shoulder.

 

He did not so much as look at Bofur.

 

Even expecting such treatment did not prepare Bofur well enough.  He felt as devastated as the landscape all around them and bitterly resentful of the well-meaning but pitying looks some of his companions threw him.

 

He comforted himself by watching Fíli peel away to greet Nori.  The thief had slipped away from the group, lingering in the back of the small anteroom the Company had been using as their base of operations.  Bofur noticed the moment Fíli glimpsed Nori, and once he saw Thorin’s attention turn to Balin and Dwalin he nudged the young dwarf gently and gestured with his head for him to go.

 

From the corner of his eye he watched as they embraced; Fíli’s eyes filled with tears, Nori’s hands on either side of Fíli’s face, tenderly holding him steady as he pressed their heads together and they breathed.

 

When Fíli reached his hand up to grasp Nori’s tunic and pull him closer Bofur looked away, suddenly feeling intrusive.  The moment had grown softly private, even though the two were not alone, and Bofur did the best he could to distract the others and leave his nephew and Nori to their reunion, such as it was.

 

He did not think on Thorin, and he did not long to hold him and tell him that he loved him.

 

*

 

After two days of fruitless searching, Kíli sought out Bofur.

 

“Bofur, please, we must do something,” he whispered, his eyes darting around, making sure they were completely alone in their tucked-away alcove of the treasury.

 

Bofur could not help but reach out to cup Kíli’s cheek briefly.  His mind filled with memories of the tiny dwarfling he had been, once upon a time, on the other side of the world; when all they had to worry about was putting food on the table and keeping a roof over their heads.  It had seemed so desperate and important then, such concerns.

 

He now knew he’d had no idea what real desperation was.

 

“Oh, lad,” he said, willing his voice to stay steady when all it wanted to do was quiver.  “He will speak to no one; not me, not even Balin and Dwalin, and they have known him his entire life.  I fear - “

 

He stopped for a moment, because another word spoken would betray his utter devastation, and would do nothing to ease Kíli’s heart.

 

Kíli reached up to touch the hand still holding his cheek, smiling a little before pulling it down and squeezing it.

 

“You don’t think he’s there any longer, do you?” he asked.  “Our Thorin.  You fear it may be too late to do anything.”

 

_He has always been so clever, so intuitive,_ Bofur thought, a reluctant and almost frustrated pride blooming in him at being seen through so readily.   _He hides it all, lets Fíli take so much glory but he is a wise and sensitive soul, and he does not miss anything._

 

_I only wish all that was not such a curse in this current situation._

 

“Kíli,” Bofur began slowly, not at all sure how to proceed. “Even if I _were_ able to get him alone, get him to speak with me, I do not believe he would listen.  What would I tell him but to cease looking for a meaningless rock and make some kind of peace with the Elves and the Men, before it is too late?”

 

He kicked a pile of coins in vexation, and they both watched them spill like water onto the floor.

 

“Fíli and Nori have exchanged rings,” Kíli said after a moment, his eyes still on the coins.  “They plan to marry after...well, after.”

 

Bofur’s head snapped up.

 

“Truly?” he asked, amazed.

 

Kíli nodded, smiling a little.

 

“I don’t doubt the gravity of our circumstances has accelerated it all a bit,” he said lightly, “but I also do not doubt how Fíli feels.  He loves Nori, is totally devoted to him.  He plans to claim him as his One.”

 

Bofur shook his head in wonderment.

 

“If you had ever told me such a thing could happen,” he said, “I would have called you a mad fool.  Fíli and Nori!  The Thief of ‘Ri and the Golden Prince…”

 

Kíli snorted.

 

“‘Golden Prince’ is a bit much, don’t you think?” he asked, rolling his eyes.  “This _is_ Fíli we’re talking about, after all.”

 

Bofur laughed a little at that, and felt another surge of affection for Kíli sweep over him, filling all the tiny holes Thorin’s coldness had left in his heart.

 

He thought on Tauriel, and the depth of feeling he knew he’d seen in her eyes.

 

He thought on Fíli, and how he deserved a chance, no matter how small, to have a life with the one he had chosen to love.

 

He looked down again at the coins littering the floor and felt almost nauseous, remembering all the years he’d spent longing for wealth like this; for enough money so that they would all be protected - fed, clothed, kept warm and dry.  Enough to not have to choose between everyone eating and paying their rent.

 

_I was so blind,_ he thought.   _I had all I needed.  It is not easy to be poor, but it is no life at all without love.  Gold will never care about you, hold you, protect your heart against despair, make you laugh._

 

_It doesn’t love you, not the way your family does._

 

He looked up again, into Kíli’s eyes, and knew what he had to do.

 

“All right,” he said.  “I’ll speak to him.”

 

•

 

The sun rose blood red on Bofur’s fifth day in Erebor and he knew he could wait no longer.

 

Steeling his nerve, he made his way down into the ghostly city; past the way stations, the throne room, the wealthier houses, the royal quarters - all the way down into the vast treasury, where all but whomever was assigned as lookout had been spending every moment of their days, leaving only to eat and sleep.

 

The treasury was dim and dark, even with the torches scattered about.  They were truly in the depths of the mountain, where no sunlight reached, and Bofur was uneasy and ill with anxiety as he approached Thorin.

 

He’d watched so carefully, hoping and praying that Thorin would step away from the gold, even for a moment, knowing instinctively he would never listen to reason while surrounded by such a horde.

 

But Thorin never had.

 

Bofur’s footsteps seemed deafening to him - the crunch and slide of gold and gemstones unbearably loud under his boots as he made his way over to where Thorin was knee-deep in treasure.

 

He stood there for several moments, delaying, waiting to be acknowledged, growing more despondent with each beat of his heart.

 

Finally he said softly, “Thorin?”

 

Thorin’s head snapped up and Bofur swallowed the gasp that wanted to escape.

 

His face was gaunt and his clothes hung off him as if they had been made for someone else.  Bofur knew they had all lost weight, surviving as they had been on cram for so long but _this_...this seemed something else entirely.

 

Bofur stared into black, totally wild eyes, and then his gaze moved to Thorin’s hair and _oh his hair…_

 

It was matted and greasy, completely unkempt, but worst of all - the courting braid Bofur had placed there so long ago, the one he would undo and reweave every so often in a process that always led to such tenderness, such passion...it was gone.

 

Thorin had taken it out.

 

*

 

“What do you want?”

 

The voice was almost unrecognizable - hoarse, cold and raw-sounding.  Gone was the thrilling baritone, the rich and warm timbre he’d loved so dearly and in its place was something foreign and hard, something that was as foul as biting on iron.

 

If the coldness and distance in Thorin had begun in Bag End, the seeds sowed by the weaknesses in Thrain and Thror’s blood, _this_...this was so far beyond anything Bofur had expected and feared he did not know what to do, what to think.

 

This being before him was nearly unrecognizable as Thorin and for the first time Bofur felt genuine terror.  His greatest fear had been losing Thorin to Erebor, but it now appeared he might lose him to utter insanity before Erebor could even open its gates.

 

He swallowed hard and reached down deep within himself, summoning every drop of courage he possessed, knowing he had but one chance - a single opportunity.

 

“My love,” he whispered as gently as he could.  “Please - come with me, only for a short while.  You need food and rest.  The stone has waited this long, it can wait a bit longer.”

 

Thorin’s eyes blazed, and his foot shot out and kicked a jeweled goblet hard enough to send it flying past Bofur’s head to crash against a column behind him.

 

Bofur flinched as the cup sailed past him and again when it hit the stone.

 

“What would you know about any of this?” Thorin growled, sounding feral.  “This is the province of kings and what are you?  Miner.   _Toymaker.”_

 

The last was almost spat out, and Bofur shut his eyes against the sting of tears.

 

“What am I?” he repeated .  “I am your lover, and your partner, and have been these things for many years, thank Mahal.  I am a miner and a toymaker too but the Thorin I know cared nothing for that.  His love was - _is_ \- unconditional, as strong and steady as the mountain itself.”

 

There was a bark of laughter and Bofur opened his eyes to see Thorin looking at him, an expression of dismissive disgust on his face.

 

“Perhaps in the Blue Mountains all this was true,” he gritted out in that horribly bleak, soulless voice.  “But we are in Erebor now.  I am home.  Your... _purpose_ has been served.”

 

Bofur gasped, his heart stuttering and shivering in his chest.

 

_now it comes now it comes what I feared I always knew always knew ALWAYS KNEW_

 

“With the Arkenstone, Erebor’s grasp will reach across Middle Earth and we will be the kingdom to turn all others into dust.”

 

He peered darkly at Bofur, and Bofur felt unspeakable despair.

 

“Nothing will stand in the way of this.  Certainly not a _miner_ from Ered Luin.”

 

Bofur fought back tears and the wild urge to turn and run, struggling to calm himself in the face of so much madness.

 

“This is not you,” he said, as firmly as he could, his gaze meeting Thorin’s straight on.  “We all see it, even if the others fear to tell you.  You need time away from this...this _place,_ and you need to eat and sleep.  Can you even remember when you last ate anything at all, never mind that it was cram?  Or closed your eyes for longer than a blink?  I’ll wager it’s been days.  Can you not see what a toll it is taking on you?”

 

His voice broke but he pressed on, not daring to stop and give Thorin a chance to respond.

 

“Just...just take my hand and let us leave for a moment.  The others are still searching, every one of them.  Surely as king you can step away briefly, yes?  We all depend on you, we cannot have you fall ill.”

 

He reached his hand out, willing it not to tremble; stretching it as far as he could toward Thorin, who still stood surrounded by a wall of gold.

 

“Please, Thorin.   _Please.”_

 

Time seemed to slow down, and Bofur watched as Thorin’s hand twitched and began to lift up.

 

_oh Mahal please please let him touch me how long has it been if only take my hand please let me lead you out of here_

 

Bofur stood still, his hand steady and strong, his heart hammering.

 

_please_

 

Thorin’s hand reached out toward Bofur’s with agonizing slowness.

 

_every kiss every embrace every moment together it has all come down to this if he does not he is lost I am lost oh please_

_so close_

 

His eyes lifted to meet Bofur’s...and just like that, his hand stopped.

 

_no no no please no_

 

Bofur stepped closer and reached farther, trying to make up the difference as Thorin began to withdraw.

 

“Thorin - “ he murmured.  “For your nephews.”

 

He saw something in Thorin’s eyes flicker for the briefest moment before they shuttered again.

 

He inhaled sharply, a lump rising in his throat.

 

“For me,” he whispered hoarsely.  “Thorin, for _me._  Please.”

 

He reached further still.

 

Thorin shuddered and took a step back, lowering his hand, and that was the end of it.  Whatever had been there was now gone.

 

_oh, no.  no no no please_

 

“Leave me,” this dwarf who looked like Thorin said.  “And waste no more time with this nonsense.  Find me the fucking Arkenstone.”

 

He turned away and disappeared into the mountains of gold.

 

*

 

Telling Fíli was awful.

 

Telling Kíli was the hardest thing Bofur had ever had to do.

 

*

 

When Bilbo confessed his betrayal things happened so quickly it should have all been just a muddle in his memory, but Thorin’s rage and cruelty seared every heartbeat into Bofur’s mind, imprinting them there for the rest of his life.

 

“Now get him, get them both, out of my sight.”

 

Bofur’s vision blurred with tears, and he turned and stumbled after Bilbo, only Dwalin’s arm on his elbow keeping him from collapsing all together.

 

“There now, s’all right, I’ve got you,” the grizzled warrior murmured as he gently but firmly led Bofur away, steering him down the side of the mountain, underneath the parapets and out toward the Desolation.

 

Bilbo was just ahead of them, his hand rubbing his throat gingerly, and walking steadily but stiffly, as if he were in pain.

 

_Mahal knows_ I _am in pain,_ Bofur thought bleakly.   _Why not Bilbo too?_

 

The tears ran silently down his face, and he tried so hard to pick his feet all the way up with each step so as not to trip or stumble but it was so difficult, so tiring.  The further he moved away from Thorin the louder the voice in his heart and head cried out for him to stop, to turn around, to do whatever it took to stay.

 

They reached the bottom of the mountain and Bofur stopped, looking around himself helplessly.  

 

He no longer knew who he was if he was not the beloved of Thorin.

 

Mutely, he looked up at Dwalin only to see the tall dwarf looking back at him, an expression of heartbreaking sympathy on his face.

 

Bofur’s breath caught in his throat and anger - hot, black rage - boiled up from deep within him.

 

“Do not look at me as if I have been turned down for a dance at a solstice festival, son of Fundin,” he hissed.  “I would rather hang your sympathy and still be within sight of my One.”

 

Dwalin’s eyes abruptly hooded over.

 

“My king told me to remove you, both of you,” he said woodenly.  “And so I did.”

 

“Aye,” Bofur shot back, “and have likely doomed him in the process.  Are _you_ going to tell him he is mad?  That he condemns you all to certain death if he follows this course?  His own kin?  His - “ and his voice cracked, but he continued, “his own sister-sons?  Surely you can see the only outcome here, Dwalin!”

 

Dwalin merely shook his head.

 

“They come demanding gold, with weapons drawn!” he growled, and Bofur hissed in frustration.  “That is not the act of an ally!  Thorin is right in telling them to fuck themselves.  It is not their place to demand anything.”

 

Bilbo, whom Bofur had almost forgotten about, spoke up suddenly, his voice quiet but fierce in its intensity.

 

“Erebor cannot stand alone,” he said urgently.  “Like it or not, you _need_ these Men and the Elves of the Mirkwood if the Lonely Mountain is to survive.  Give them my share for the Arkenstone, the one fourteenth of the treasure that is due me per my contract.  I don’t want any of it, I just want - “

 

He stopped and quickly glanced over at Bofur.

 

“I just want you all to be _safe,"_ he finished, looking back at Dwalin.  "To live to see your kingdom succeed.  How can that happen if you are all dead of starvation?  Or killed in battle numbering only thirteen against hundreds?”

 

He stepped forward just a bit toward Dwalin, and Bofur was shocked to see the old warrior’s hand drop down to grip the hilt of his sword.

 

_Madness,_ he thought despairingly.   _They have all gone mad._

 

Bilbo saw it too and stopped.

 

“Dwalin,” he said, his eyes wide with surprise and sadness.  “How can you think - “

 

“I would never have thought you could steal the Arkenstone,” Dwalin said grimly.  “Not knowing how much Thorin valued it, how desperately he sought it.  You _betrayed_ him.  You betrayed all of us.”

 

Bilbo gasped, and then choked out, “Dwalin, please, I never - “

 

From above them tiny rocks and dust began to rain down and, quick as a wink, Kíli stood in front of them.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past and in the present, plans are made.

He woke with a start the next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon, and felt completely disoriented for a few moments.

 

Everything was so similar to mornings in the Shire that Bofur almost began to think it had all been a terrible dream, these last few weeks, and that he had been granted his most fervent wish to turn back time.

 

The sound of Dís’s voice as she sang quietly to herself put end to that fantasy, and Bofur fell back on the cushions, heartsick and exhausted.

 

He looked around the small room and his heart squeezed to see so many tiny reminders of the boys:  a scrape on the wall from Fili practicing with his wooden sword indoors, a loose floorboard under which Kíli had hidden little rocks and stones he had been taken with, the small pencil marks against the archway into the hall that showed how tall they had both been at different ages...all the signs of a happy family and Bofur supposed that was exactly what they had been, before the spector of Erebor had reared its ugly head and turned everything to blood and misery.

 

He felt a sharp stab of black anger toward Gandalf, not for the first time, for setting them all on this course.

 

The feeling was gone almost as soon as it had come.

 

The truth was Thorin had always longed to return to Erebor, decades before speaking to Gandalf.  That meeting had only served to sharpen the focus of a plan that had always danced around the borders of his mind, sometimes closer to the front and sometimes further away, depending on circumstances and the demands of their daily life.  But it had been ever-present, always looming over them in a strangely heavy way.

 

Perhaps things had always been destined to end the way they had.

 

He buried his head under the blanket and tried to think of something else, anything that wasn’t his family dying or Bilbo weeping…

 

“Here.”

 

The smell of coffee was suddenly very strong.

 

Bofur peeked out to see Dís looking down at him, amused, holding a mug out towards him.

 

She smiled at him, and he gave her a small smile in return.

 

“Drink this,” she said, indicating the mug.  “It should help.”

 

He took it from her gratefully and sipped, relishing the bitter taste and the warmth that began to spread through him.

 

He moved around a bit until he was sitting up, and he sipped from the mug again.

 

Dís had disappeared back into the kitchen and returned shortly with a plate of bread and bacon.

 

“I decided as a treat we should have a picnic inside.  Remember those?”

 

Bofur laughed a little, his heart both warmed and saddened to remember that little tradition.  Once in a great while they would spread a blanket on the floor and let the boys have an “picnic inside”, where they could eat off plates as they sat and played and in general eschewed the table manners the adults spent every other meal trying to instill in them.

 

One of their last dinners in Ered Luin had been eaten just that way, at Kíli’s insistence.  Bofur knew Thorin and Fíli had felt a little silly sitting cross-legged on their living room floor, eating off their laps, but he and Dís and Kíli had had a marvelous time; and in the weeks that followed Bofur had been very glad for that simple touch of home to call back on when things had begun to grow so dark.

 

“I do indeed,” he now said, smiling at her.  “And I appreciate the gesture.  I am truly so comfortable I don’t know that I ever want to move.”

 

Dís snorted, and said, “Well, brother, move you must if we are to help you at all.”

 

Bofur frowned.  “Help me what?”

 

Dís quirked her eyebrow at him.

 

“Why, help you win back Master Baggins, of course,” she said.

 

*

 

Bofur simply gaped at Kíli as the archer stood there looking back at him.

 

“What - “ he sputtered and then Dwalin cut in.

 

“Kíli, in Durin’s name get back up there before he sees you are missing,” he growled, looking up nervously (and Bofur thought he’d eat his own hat if he had ever seen Dwalin look nervous before).

 

Kíli looked over at Dwalin, almost mildly.

 

“Are you so frightened of him, too?” he asked softly.  “And does that tell you nothing?  Dwalin, this is not Thorin.  We all can see that, and yet only Bofur had the courage to challenge him.  And I can’t say I blame the rest, if this is what happens.”

 

Dwalin flushed but did not back down.

 

“Laddie, your uncle is the king - mine and yours,” he said gruffly.  “If he commands me to do something then that is what I will do.”

 

Bofur could see Kíli was growing frustrated with Dwalin’s unwillingness to bend at all.

 

“Even if Thorin is clearly insane?” he asked forcefully.  “Dwalin, please, you must see that!  He has neither eaten nor slept in days and his eyes - “ he cut off abruptly, his own eyes filling with such broken sorrow that Bofur could not help himself as he reached out to grasp the younger dwarf’s shoulder.

 

Kíli gave a shuddering sigh and looked back at Bofur briefly before facing Dwalin again.

 

“His eyes...they’re so empty and bleak.  I do not recognize any of my uncle in them.  Do you?”

 

Dwalin looked so unhappy Bofur nearly felt sorry for him, but he wanted to hear the answer to Kíli’s question.

 

Shifting around, Dwalin looked away from them for a moment, out towards where they could see the camps of Elves and Men in the distance.  When he looked back at them his eyes were suspiciously damp.

 

“I wish that mattered, laddie,” he said with such gentleness Bofur’s breath was taken away.  “But it doesn’t.”

 

*

 

They all stood in silence for a long while after that, watching the Men and Elves scurrying about in the distance.

 

Bofur wondered if the four of them were even visible to them from such a distance.  He felt so tiny and insignificant; just a little speck in what was turning out to be an enormous maelstrom of things beyond his ken.

 

Then Bilbo spoke up, and again Bofur was startled by it, having forgotten the hobbit was with them.

 

“I suppose we should head that way,” he said, indicating the camps.  “If Gandalf comes that will be where he’ll stop first, and then we can tell him…”

 

He trailed off, and Bofur finished the thought for him.

 

“We can tell him that Erebor has been successfully retaken, eh?  And the dragon defeated!”  He laughed harshly.  “He’ll be so pleased it’s all gone according to plan.”

 

Angry and broken inside, he looked up at Dwalin.

 

“Don’t _you_ think he’ll be pleased, Dwalin?” he gritted out.  “All it took was a town destroyed, and the loss of Thorin’s sanity!  I for one feel that was a very fair trade indeed!”

 

He pulled his gaze away from Dwalin to look down at Bilbo, who stood very still and silent, watching him uneasily.

 

“I agree, Bilbo - let’s march straight over to the camps and _thank_ Gandalf for all his support and aid in this venture.  Just think - were it not for him, we might all still be safe and happy in Ered Luin, Thorin and I comfortable and content, and _you_ might be just setting down to dinner in your cosy home.  How ridiculous all that would be!  Thank Mahal we are all _here - “_ he gestured around himself wildly - “where we will likely not see the sun rise in three days time!”

 

A wave of sorrow rose up and crushed him, and his voice broke under it.

 

Completely wrung out, he just stood there, breathing, longing for home and for his Thorin.

 

_Had I not agreed to come, would that have made any difference?_ he wondered miserably.   _Would it have forced him to reconsider at all, or would this entire quest have played out the same way, only without me?_

 

He wiped his eyes angrily with the back of his hand.

 

“Apologies, Bilbo,” he said roughly.  “I should not have spoken that way to you, not after all you’ve done.”

 

Bilbo looked away uncomfortably as Dwalin said sharply, “He _stole_ from us!  From Thorin!  How is it you take his side in this?  You yourself said he needed to be punished!”

 

Now Bilbo looked miserable, and Kíli reached an arm around his shoulder, squeezing him comfortingly and murmuring something to him.

 

Bofur turned on Dwalin.

 

“And so he should, but to be thrown from the mountain?  Do _you_ find that to be an appropriate penalty, Dwalin?  Because if you plan to take up what Thorin did not finish, you will have to go through me first!”

 

“And me,” Kíli said firmly.

 

Dwalin huffed and looked down.

 

“And I will not pretend I do not understand _why_ he did what he did,” Bofur continued, looking over at Bilbo, who looked so small, folded under Kíli’s arm as he was.  “Will you?”

 

Dwalin caught his eyes briefly, before sighing and looking away again.

 

“No,” he said quietly.  “I will not.”

 

*

 

Kíli dragged Bofur away from the other two, and Bofur smiled inwardly to see the determined look on Kíli’s face, knowing what the other was going to say before he’d even opened his mouth.

 

“I’m coming with you.”

 

Bofur shook his head.

 

“Kíli,” he said gently, “we both know you cannot do that.  Not if you hope to remain in Thorin’s good graces.  You must go back with Dwalin.”

 

The younger dwarf scowled as he looked back at Dwalin.

 

“I’m not going anywhere with him,” he whispered fiercely to Bofur.  “Not after this.  Please don’t ask me to.”

 

Sighing, Bofur pulled Kíli into an embrace, squeezing him tightly.

 

“I am so very proud of you,” he whispered back.  “No matter what happens, I want you to know that.  You have been such a...a  _light_ for me, you and your brother both, and I consider myself blessed indeed to have been in your lives.”

 

Kíli pushed back a bit and looked closely at Bofur.

 

“You’re speaking as if we are never going to see each other again,” he said suspiciously.  “Just because Thorin is...well, not himself, does not mean I do not love you and want you close.  And Fíli feels the same, I know he does!  You are as much an uncle to us as Thorin, and - “

 

Bofur grasped his face.

 

“Lad, we are standing on the brink of war,” he said, his voice thick and heavy.  “Who knows what may happen?  I want -  _need -_ you to know that you will always be in my heart.  And if I should fall - “

 

“Stop!”

 

They both looked over at Bilbo, who was practically in tears.

 

“Please, forgive me,” he almost babbled.  “I did not mean to eavesdrop but...what I did - the Arkenstone, I mean - I did it so you would all be _safe!_  I cannot...do not speak of dying!”  

 

His eyes found Bofur’s for a moment.  “I could not bear to lose you...any of you,” he added, looking at Kíli and then back at Dwalin.  “Please, there must be _some_ way to make Thorin see reason.  Can no one convince him to give my share to Thranduil and Bard for the Arkenstone?  Bard only wants help rebuilding, I’m sure, and Thranduil, well…”  He hesitated and then said, “It would be a very difficult path for Erebor without Thranduil as an ally.”

 

He looked over to Dwalin again.

 

“Please, Dwalin.   _Please._ There must be some way.  I just…”

 

He looked over at Bofur again and swallowed hard.

 

“I just could not bear it.  Please.”

 

Bofur had never seen Dwalin look so unhappy and heartsore.

 

“Ah, Bilbo,” he said tiredly, “you don’t know what you ask.  For a dwarf, especially one like Thorin, to give in to an enemy’s demands - “

 

“They’re not your enemies!” Bilbo cried.  “Can you not see that?”

 

“Thranduil is,” Dwalin said simply.  “And Bard now is by association.  That is Thorin’s perception and you need to understand that.  If this mess is to be repaired you must understand that.”

 

Bilbo nodded slowly.

 

“All right then,” Dwalin continued.  “What you do not know is Dáin is marching here from the Iron Hills, for the stated purpose of helping hold and rebuild Erebor.”

 

Bofur was shocked.

 

“Dáin!” he sputtered.  “The same Dáin who refused to help us in this quest?  Who chose to not lend us aid as we struggled to reach Erebor and slay a dragon but who is now on his way to reap the benefits with the danger past?”

 

Dwalin snorted.

 

“I would not say the danger is past,” he said.  “You yourself said we stand on the brink of war.  If nothing is resolved by the time Dáin reaches us, he will fight through the enemy lines to reach the Mountain, and the Company will join his efforts.”

 

Groaning, Bofur held his head.

 

“And what was once a siege that offered time for Thorin to see reason is now a lighted fuse,” he muttered, and Kíli gripped his elbow.

 

“Do the Men and Elves know he is coming?” he asked desperately.

 

Shaking his head, Dwalin said, “Not from me, but if they have scouts as I’m sure they must, they will very soon.  We expect him within two days’ time.”

 

Kíli looked pleadingly at Bofur, and Bofur could see his fear for Tauriel written all over his face.

 

_Ah, Thorin,_ he thought despairingly, _how much blood will you spill before you are satisfied?_

 

*

 

It was decided that Bofur and Bilbo would attempt to reason with Bard, with whom Bofur felt he could speak honestly after all that had transpired in Laketown.

 

He wondered where the Master was.  He had surprisingly not been among those demanding gold from Thorin.

 

If Bard could be swayed, the hope was that he in turn might convince Thranduil to stand down, and put off pressing his suit for a share of Erebor’s wealth until Laketown and Erebor had found their footing.

 

Bofur knew their plan was all but hopeless and they were only avoiding the inevitable - that _this_ Thorin would no sooner part with a single piece of gold than he would cut off his right hand; but he fervently hoped that the delay would grant them more time to find a way to reach him, to bring back the dwarf they loved so dearly.

 

Bofur only hoped there was any of that dwarf still left.

 

*

 

“Come, lad,” Dwalin finally said to Kíli.  “It’s time we made our way back.”

 

He turned and looked at Bofur, his face stern but full of sorrow.

 

“Bofur - “ he began and Bofur stopped him.

 

“Don’t, Dwalin,” he said, feeling immeasurably tired and defeated.  “I do not blame you but it is difficult - “  His voice cracked.  He swallowed hard and continued.  “It is difficult to not be angry with you.  I do not believe my expulsion will help bring back Thorin, and it is so devastating - “

 

His eyes burned as he tried to hold back his tears.

 

“So devastating to not be with him,” he finished gruffly, wiping his eyes roughly on his sleeve.  “Even with him not caring for me.  It feels as if a part of my heart has been torn out and I am dying as I stand here.”

 

Dwalin blinked, and then turned away to wipe his eyes too.

 

“Forgive me,” he said quietly.  “You are a good dwarf, and you do not deserve any of this.”

 

Bofur clenched his hands into fists and then forced himself to relax.

 

“Never mind any of that,” he said roughly.  “Just take care of him until I can return to do it myself.”

 

Dwalin nodded sharply and turned again to Kíli.

 

“Let us go,” he said, “before your uncle notices your absence.”

 

Kíli planted his feet and shook his head.

 

“No,” he said simply.

 

Bofur sighed.  “Kíli - “

 

“I’m not going back!” Kíli protested.  “You have more need of me down here anyway.  I was there with Bard, too!  Perhaps I can help convince him to assist us.”

 

He looked over at Bofur, his eyes beseeching.

 

“Please,” he said.  “I want to help, and I want - “

 

Bofur reached out to grip his hand.

 

“I know what you want,” he said kindly.  “But we do not even know if she is with them.”

 

Twin expressions of confusion crossed Dwalin and Bilbo’s face, and under different circumstances Bofur might have been amused.  Now he was only worried that this new revelation might cause them to lose Dwalin’s favor and tacit approval of their plan.

 

Kíli continued on, oblivious to Bofur’s dilemma.

 

“She will be, of _course_ she will be!” he said, his voice full of certainty and pride.  “She’s the Captain of the Guard, how could Thranduil not bring her?”

 

Dwalin’s eyes widened so far they looked as if they might fall clear out of his head.

 

Bilbo looked utterly baffled.

 

“Kíli,” he said, his voice full of uncertainty, “are you speaking of...of an _elf?”_

 

Kíli’s ears turned pink but he stood even straighter as he looked Bilbo straight in the eye and said, “I am.  And I love her.”

 

Bofur felt almost sorry for Dwalin, who looked as if his head might blow clean off his shoulders.

 

“Dwalin,” he warned.  “Before you say anything know that she helped save all our lives when Smaug attacked and in the time afterwards.  And she worked alongside us tirelessly as we fought to save those trapped in the wreckage, and recover the bodies of those who had died.”

 

He felt a hand drop onto his shoulder and squeeze.  Turning to look he saw Kíli smiling widely at him, his eyes bright.

 

“Thank you for that,” he said with a small smile.  “I am very glad to hear you find her so worthy.”

 

The young dwarf then turned to Dwalin, his manner becoming less warm and more regal.

 

“She is the one I have chosen to love, and though you may not agree I only ask that you respect my decision,” he said firmly.  “I have never met anyone with more courage and honor and I am grateful for the chance to spend the rest of my days striving to be worthy of her.”

 

Bilbo smiled warmly at him, and said, “Kíli, that was very well said!  I look forward to meeting the one who stole your heart, for I consider her to be lucky indeed.”

 

Kíli ducked his head almost bashfully, his recent eloquence forgotten, and looked at his feet, smiling.

 

Dwalin sighed and rolled his eyes.

 

“If we are finished with all this ridiculousness,” he said dryly, “I’ll tell you plainly I think you’re mad, and that this is the most absurd thing I have heard in all my life.  And just to be clear, the competition for that title is rather fierce.”

 

Then he exhaled loudly and his tone softened as he looked at Kíli.

 

“But I have loved you every day of your life,” he continued more gently, “and considering our present circumstances, it would take a harder dwarf than me to condemn such a thing.”

 

Kíli’s eyes shot up, shocked.

 

Bofur felt a bit shocked, too.

 

Dwalin sighed again.

 

“I suppose I should be insulted you both find it so startling I would not rant and rave over this news,” he said a bit grumpily, folding his arms and kicking the dirt with his boot.  “Didn’t realize I had such a reputation for being such a stubborn old bastard.”

 

And now it was Bofur who rolled his eyes.

 

“Are you really going to stand there in all honesty and say that?” he asked, utterly exasperated.  “You, who looks as if they could bend a sword with their bare hands, who rarely smiles and who cultivates ferocious expressions the same way hobbits cultivate their gardens?  No offense to you, of course, Bilbo.”

 

“None taken,” Bilbo said lightly, with a wide smile.

 

Bofur continued, drawling, “You didn’t _realize_ what an effect you have, you poor fluttering thing?”

 

Bilbo and Kíli began laughing at that, and it served to release the moment's tension.  The air around them, which had been so heavy and fraught mere moments ago, now felt much lighter.

 

“Never fear, Dwalin,” Bilbo told the old warrior.  “I for one have always seen the softer, more sensitive side of you.  I’m only happy you chose to share it now, for news such as Kíli’s certainly warrants it.”

 

_Bless him,_ thought Bofur.

 

Dwalin reached over to ruffled Kíli’s hair, and the archer grinned up at him a little self-consciously.

 

“Well, here is where I may lose my newfound reputation for kindness,” he then said reluctantly.  “Lad, I don’t see another way around it.  You have to come back with me.  If your uncle finds you gone - “

 

Before Kíli could speak, Bofur said, “Could you cover for him, perhaps until morning?  That is not so very long from now,” and indeed, the shadows all around them had lengthened considerably since they’d made their way down.

 

Dwalin sighed and tried again.

 

“Kíli - “

 

“Please, Dwalin,” Kíli cut in.  “I will return at first light, I promise.  But please, please give me until then.”

 

Dwalin threw up his hands.

 

“This could jeopardize everything,” he said.  “This whole, mad plan of yours.  Thorin will stop at nothing if he discovers you are gone.  You _know_ that.”

 

Bofur looked at Dwalin, and a quiet understanding passed between them.

 

“Then you must find a way to make sure he doesn’t find out,” he said.

 

*

The next several days passed quickly, the events all melting together until Bofur could hardly discern one from the other.

 

Dís was careful to keep news of Bofur’s arrival back in Ered Luin very quiet, but others had seen him and word spread like wildfire that one of the heroes of Erebor, one of their own, had returned to them.

 

He could not walk out of Dís’s home without someone waiting to speak to him - to touch him, to ask him a question about the journey, to offer some word or other about Thorin.

 

It was much as it had been in Erebor, and Bofur initially bore up under the strain no better than he had there.

 

Whatever healing he had begun to do in the Shire was tattered and blown apart, and his heart bled every day, throbbing and painful.

 

The only difference was it now bled for two different reasons.

 

But after a while he did not feel so burdened by despair as he had in the East and that was a small comfort.  He supposed distance and time were helping in that regard, although he had a sinking suspicion Bilbo had had a great deal to do with the modicum of peace he had found with Thorin’s memory.  He tried to think on Bilbo as little as possible, as memories of the hobbit and what had transpired between them was still terribly painful.

 

Desperate for something to fill his days, he began to do what he had supposedly come west to do in the first place - assist any and all who wished to relocate to Erebor.

 

And so he pushed his pain back as far as it would go, pulled himself out of his bed each morning, and made himself as available as he could bear to those seeking information and aid about the journey east.

 

He made it clear immediately he did not wish to speak about Thorin, or the quest itself, and with very few exceptions the dwarves of the Blue Mountains respected that boundary.  Those that did not were summarily ignored, and a few early examples was all it took to make the point.

 

Dís continually encouraged him to write to Bilbo - to attempt to begin some manner of dialogue.

 

“If he loves you as you love him,” she would say, “I think he will be able to forgive you.  But you must lay yourself bare and be patient.  You have wounded him so gravely.”

 

Bofur would sigh and write the letters she suggested, letters full of regret and apologies and longing...and on one perhaps ill-advised occasion, a sensuality borne of too much ale and sheer desperation.

 

No reply ever came.

 

After a while he stopped writing.

 

And when he would think of Bilbo, his heart would sink and his chest would tighten, and he would try as best he could to focus on something else.

 

*

 

And in this fashion, three years passed.

 

*

 

“Bofur.”

 

He looked up.

 

Dís was standing in front of him, looking stunned.

 

Bofur’s heart stopped.

 

“What is it?” he demanded.  “What has happened?  Is it Bifur?  Or one of the children?”

 

She shook her head mutely.

 

His heart sank all the way to his toes.

 

“Not Bilbo,” he whispered.  “Dís, please - not Bilbo.”

 

She shook her head again.

 

“Not Bilbo,” she managed finally, her voice trembling.

 

Bofur had never seen her so close to weeping, save the one evening he had told her of the quest in Bag End, and he was terrified.

 

“If not Bilbo, then what?” he said urgently.  “What has happened?”

 

She swallowed, and then said, “His cousins.  The ones he visited that night.  Little Frodo’s parents.  They...they’re dead.”

 

*

 

Letters were again sent to Bag End, letters of condolence, letters offering support, letters begging, letters insisting.

 

All went unanswered.

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur receives a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - There is a past conversation very briefly mentioned here that takes place in the first installment of this series: Somewhere, a part of my life.
> 
> It's not necessary to read that to follow this chapter at all...I just wanted to explain in case it was confusing.

Another two years passed.

 

Bofur did as best he could.  He and Dís had fallen into a easy rhythm - she would attend either Guild meetings or court, and he would lend a hand in the many disputes that came about with the miners, while carving in the evenings for relaxation and to keep his mind off other matters.  

 

Summers were crisper and more cool than the one he had experienced in the Shire but the familiarity of that was comforting in a way, and Bofur welcomed anything that brought a measure of comfort.  The winters were not as ferocious as the ones Erebor had weathered in his experience.  He supposed the difference lay in being part of a mountain range in the West as opposed to a single, solitary Eastern peak with nothing else surrounding it to buffer the elements.

 

He found he did not care much either way.

 

Life began to feel easier than it had in Erebor, more satisfying, and he did not know if it was Ered Luin he found comfort in, or Dís, or perhaps both.  Either way, the passage of time was finally working its magic on him - softening the burning desire and sorrow he carried for Thorin, though it only slightly eased the pain he felt over Bilbo.  He had no explanation for this, other than his feelings for Thorin had a resolution, however heartbreaking it had been.  They had had opportunity to connect and reaffirm all they had meant to each other.

 

There had been no such opportunity with Bilbo, and Bofur felt that loss keenly.

 

And yet what was he to do?  Every effort he had made over the years, every word he had written, had been summarily ignored and rebuffed; and without the slightest word of encouragement, Bofur could not bring himself to journey back to the Shire.  He feared being turned away again would be too much for his heart to bear.

 

Even Dís had ceased speaking of it, and Bofur had long suspected she had written the hobbit her own letters, which had also gone unanswered.

 

All this made Bilbo’s sudden, unannounced appearance in Ered Luin all the more shocking.

 

*

 

He arrived almost five years to the day Bofur had returned to the Blue Mountains, and he did not come alone.

 

Bofur was at home by himself, struggling over the mountains of contracts, invoices and inventory records his position as Chief Mining Officer generated.  For all that he appreciated being useful and needed, Bofur was well aware paperwork was not the best use of his gifts.  It was tedious and confounding and he often itched to set it all on fire and run shrieking from the room.

 

So when he heard someone knocking at the door he could have cared less who it was, only that it was someone come to distract him, and help him put off the inevitable drudgery for a little bit longer.

 

He strode quickly to the door in the hopes that whomever it was didn’t leave before he could get there, calling “Hang on a moment, on my way!” as he went.

 

Unlatching the door he threw it open and then stood there, gobsmacked.

 

“Bilbo,” he breathed, his mind spinning as it took in the wonderfully familiar figure.  “Can it really be you?”

 

The hobbit, his hand resting gently on the head of a little fauntling who was clinging tightly to his leg, looked up from under a wide-brimmed hat.

 

“Hello, Bofur,” he greeted, and gave him a small smile.

 

*

 

The tiny babe Bofur had been so enamoured of years ago had grown into a sturdy little child, but his eyes remained the same - wide and bright blue, and too large for his face.

 

It was immediately clear that Bilbo was now in charge of him, and if the curiosity and shy happiness in the fauntling’s eyes was anything to go by, Bilbo had risen to the occasion admirably.

 

They were both dressed in the manner of Shire hobbits - short breeches, cream-colored tunics with brass-buttoned waist coats and traveling coats, and Bilbo also carried a walking stick and a small pack on his back.

 

Bofur’s heart soared to see the hobbit after such a long time, and his confusion was completely overtaken by his sheer joy.  He took a step forward - to do what, he didn’t really know - and was dismayed when Bilbo quickly took a step back, to keep the distance between them the same as it had been.

 

He froze instantly, dropping hands that had been reaching for an embrace of some sort, and just stood there, feeling anxious and foolish but so very happy too.

 

He waited.

 

Finally Bilbo cleared his throat and said, “Bofur Broadbeam, may I introduce my cousin Drogo’s son Frodo...or reintroduce, I suppose, as you have met him before.”

 

Very slowly, so as not to startle the child, Bofur crouched down to Frodo’s eye level and said directly to him, “Aye, we’ve met before, although I doubt the lad remembers.”

 

He made a face of exaggerated adoration and then said, “There.  Does that look familiar to you?  Because that is an expression I wore a great deal at our last meeting.”

 

Frodo shook his head shyly.

 

“No?”  asked Bofur.  He frowned, thinking.  “Perhaps the moustache?”

 

He wiggled his upper lip a bit, scrunching up his nose and then smiling at the lad.

 

“What do you say?  Remember me now?”

 

Frodo ducked his head away bashfully, and then peeked around Bilbo’s leg to look again at Bofur in fascination.

 

“Now?” Bofur asked.

 

Frodo shook his head again.

 

“Ah, well, I’m not surprised,” Bofur sighed.  “You were not yet three months old.  It would take more charm than I possess to make a lasting impression on a child of that age, to be sure.”

 

Bilbo gave Frodo a gentle nudge.

 

“Why don’t you show Mister Bofur what you have, so he’ll see that you do remember a little?” he asked gently.

 

Mystified, Bofur smiled warmly at the boy and said, “Aye, I’d be right glad to see whatever it is that you’d care to show me, Master Frodo.  Take your time, of course.  There’s no rush.”

 

He leaned in a bit and whispered conspiratorially, “You’re rescuing me from the terrible fate of too much paperwork so believe me when I say I would be happy if this took all afternoon.”

 

Bilbo snorted a bit at that, and Bofur looked up, surprised, but Bilbo averted his gaze before they could catch each other’s eyes.

 

He looked over to Frodo again and prompted, “Well, then, what is it you’ve got to show me, _akhûnith?”_

 

Frodo frowned a little and Bofur was taken aback for a moment until he understood.

 

“That means _‘young one’_ in our language,” he explained, looking up at Bilbo again.

 

This time Bilbo did not look away, and Bofur’s heart skipped a beat.

 

The child hesitated a moment longer and then held out the hand that was not clutching Bilbo’s leg.

 

In it was a small wooden horse, the same one Bofur had carved five years ago in Bag End as a gift to Bilbo’s new relation.      

 

_“That’s a fine looking pony you have there.  May I?”_

 

The memory rang out in his head, and the intervening decades had not softened its clarity.

 

_Just like Kíli,_ Bofur thought, overwhelmed with emotion.    _Is this a sign?  Another chance, at everything?_

 

Bofur’s hands shook as he accepted the horse, and he smiled at Frodo, trying not to cry.

 

“It’s his very favorite possession,” Bilbo said quietly.  “He refuses to ever be parted from it.”

 

Unable to look at Bilbo just yet, the sound of his voice washing over him, soothing and thrilling him, Bofur took a deep breath to steady himself and asked, “What do you call him, lad?”

 

Frodo looked at him with his bright blue eyes, so like Thorin’s, and said, _“Her_ name is Primula.”

 

*

 

They sat around the kitchen table, Frodo with a cup of milk and Bofur and Bilbo with mugs of ale.

 

They focused much of their attention on the boy, speaking with him, making sure he had what he needed and was content, watching him as he played with the horse and then later, as he got up to wander around the house a bit.

 

They did not speak much to each other but Bofur could not help but sneak little glances at Bilbo whenever he thought the hobbit was distracted by his ward.  His timing on most of these occasions was perfect, and he was able to take in every small detail of Bilbo’s appearance - the tiny wrinkles around the hobbit’s eyes, the threads of silver in his hair, the creases around his mouth, the thinness of his frame.

 

He looked considerably older than he had when Bofur had left the Shire and Bofur was dismayed to think of his part in that.  Was it any wonder Bilbo seemed so tired and aged?  He’d been betrayed by the one he loved, had his heart broken, and then had it broken again when his cousin had died.  And surely raising a tiny child after a lifetime of bachelorhood could not be easy.

 

But there was still so much of him that Bofur recognized and rejoiced in, so much that seemed largely unchanged.  His curls were still soft and his skin so fair and smooth, and there was still a sharpness in his eyes, underneath the sadness, that Bofur was relieved to see.

 

And then he looked over to see Bilbo looking back at him, a calm and sober expression on his face.

 

Bofur flushed but did not look away.  He sat still and silent, enduring the scrutiny, hoping his demeanor would encourage the hobbit to let down his defenses a bit.  There was so much Bofur longed to know and to say but he knew he must follow Bilbo’s lead in this matter; wait for the hobbit to speak first, and listen to whatever he might have to say.

 

It was the very least he owed him, after reading his private letters, but it was extraordinarily difficult to not jump up, crush him to his chest and thank him over and over for coming, whatever his reasons may be; to thank him for trusting Bofur with another chance, even if it was just at friendship, if that was in fact why Bilbo was here.

 

It was driving him mad, not knowing, but he held his tongue and waited as patiently as he could.

 

And eventually Bilbo spoke.

 

*

 

“You... _ruined_ me,” he said in a low voice, and Bofur closed his eyes, feeling the sting of tears against his eyelids.

 

“Aye,” he managed.

 

“You...I don’t…” Bilbo sighed.  “So many times in the past five years I’ve played this conversation out in my head,” he said so sadly.  “And each time you are regretful and apologetic, and each time I am still so angry.  And now that I am here, finally _here…”_

 

He trailed off, and looked over to the sitting room where Frodo was busily playing with some old toys of Kíli and Fíli’s Bofur had managed to dig out.

 

“Now that I am here I find I am not so angry as I think I should be,” he said finally.

 

Bofur nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“I have missed you, Bofur.  So terribly,” Bilbo whispered, looking down at his hands.

 

“Oh, Bilbo,” Bofur murmured.

 

Shaking his head, Bilbo looked up and said, “No.  Not yet.  Please.”

 

Bofur nodded again and waited.  And hoped.

 

“I always knew it was so wrong of me to love you as I did,” he said, looking back down at his hands clenched in fists on the table.  “You were the partner and lover of another, and I would never have said or done anything to disrupt that.”

 

He looked up at Bofur, his eyes clear and direct.

 

“I hope you believe that.  Because it’s the truth.  I would never have dreamed of stepping between you, not even…”

 

He sighed deeply, and took a long drink of his ale.

 

“Not even when things got so bad so quickly,” he said after a moment.  “You and Thorin belonged together, that much was clear; even to me, as besotted and...in love as I was.  You were part of each other, and I would always be an outsider.”

 

Bofur’s heart ached to hear Bilbo’s confessions, because he knew how true it all was.  Had Thorin lived, he would never have looked twice at Bilbo, as worthy as he was.  Thorin was his soul, and even after all that had passed between them, and the peace Bofur had worked so hard to find on his own in the past decade, nothing would never change that.

 

Bilbo’s expression grew rueful, and Bofur knew the hobbit had guessed what he was thinking.

 

“I was making plans to come to Erebor, you know,” Bilbo said suddenly.  “When I ran across you in Bree.  I was doing all the tedious, responsible things I had neglected to do the first time I’d run off - making sure my will was in order, signing Bag End over to Drogo in the event of my death, that sort of thing.”

 

Bofur’s eyes widened as he remembered Bilbo’s smooth evasions that day when Bofur had asked why he was in Bree, and then he thought of the letter that had spoken of coming to Erebor, just to be close to him.

 

He rubbed at his eyes, and felt his heart break again.

 

Wanting so badly to say something, _anything,_ he looked up at Bilbo, hoping to see some sort of sign that he could finally speak, but Bilbo was looking away again, watching Frodo.

 

“After wanting you so badly for so long,” he said quietly, “and then to have you suddenly appear before me that day...and you looked so...so broken and sad and my heart...oh Bofur, it just _wept_ for you, for all you had endured, and I knew I would be so privileged if I could only help you find your way a bit...and so I invited you - “

 

He looked back over quickly, his eyes full of misery.

 

“You need to know I had no designs on you when I asked you to stay,” he said very intensely.  “I offered my home to you as a friend, because I believed that was all I would ever be.  And it was enough, I swear that it was!  I never sought to beguile you or, or to - “

 

“Bilbo.”  Bofur’s throat was so dry and his voice raspy.  “I know.  I do.  You have always been a loyal friend.”

 

Bilbo nodded sharply and then said, “That summer we spent together...Bofur, no matter what happens I want you to know - it was the finest time in my life.  You are so warm and generous and kind, and I was so pleased to offer you what comfort I could, and a place to rest your weary heart.”

 

They were interrupted for a moment as Frodo ran over, intent on showing them the palace he’d built with the old blocks they had found for him.  

 

Bofur felt his heart ache fiercely as he looked into Frodo’s blue, blue eyes, and a sharp stab of grief found a soft spot in him he’d not thought on for a long while.  

 

After a short while spent admiring the child’s handiwork, and a snack of toasted bread, they were left to themselves again.

 

“I know very well how dreadful that must sound,” Bilbo continued finally, in a heavy voice.  “Telling you how wonderful that summer was for me.  When the entire reason you were even _there_ was because...because - “

 

“Bilbo, please,” Bofur said softly.  “It’s all right, truly it is.  Things are as they are and we can only survive and do the best we can.  It does not matter why I was there, only that I was.”

 

He paused for a moment, watching Bilbo carefully for any reaction.  The hobbit kept his eyes on Frodo but nodded again, more slowly than before.

 

“I shall strive to remember that,” he said quietly.  “Because I have thought on this often these past few years alone.  Wondered if part of why I reacted so strongly to…” he swallowed hard, and glanced quickly over to Bofur before looking away again.  “To...what happened - “

 

“What I _did,”_ Bofur interjected, very gently.  “I won’t have you diminish the mistake I made.”

 

Bilbo’s face relaxed ever so slightly, and he smiled slightly at his folded hands.

 

“Yes, all right then - I’ve wondered if why it was so upsetting had less to do with you reading something I had never intended for you to see - “ he looked up at Bofur again  and then back down at his hands - “and more to do with my shame at being glad you were there with me, glad for whatever circumstances had brought you to me.  So, so _glad_ to just be with you.”

 

He sniffed, and Bofur could see tears running down his face.

 

“Selfish,” Bilbo gritted out, blotting his eyes with a handkerchief he produced as if by magic.  “So very selfish.  I am... _mortified_ to admit this to you.  I never wished the slightest ill to Thorin, even when he was so cruel to you, because I knew what you wanted, what you _needed,_ was his love and respect.  And I prayed that he would come to his senses, and then I prayed that he would survive…”

 

He stopped suddenly and Bofur closed his eyes for a moment, pressing the heels of his hands against them hard enough to see stars.  

 

Bilbo gave a shuddering sigh.  “And when he did not, I felt so _helpless_ in the face of your pain.  If there had been anything I could have done I would have, but I knew I was useless when placed against the loss of Thorin and Fíli and Kíli.  Utterly useless.  And so I left and tried to move on from it all.  Tried to pick up the pieces of a life in which I felt so out of place."  He gave a small, sad laugh.  "It’s so curious - I felt like such a stranger with you all when we started out and then, by the end of it all, I was just as much a stranger in the place I’d always lived as I had been with the Company.  It was as you had said to me that night in the Misty Mountains - I no longer belonged anywhere.”

 

Bofur opened his eyes and looked at Bilbo and felt a spark in his belly when he saw Bilbo was looking back at him.

 

“And once I realized _that,”_ the hobbit continued, his eyes never leaving Bofur’s, “It was short work recognizing what I needed to do.  To see that there was in fact one place I belonged, perhaps more deeply than I had ever belonged anywhere.”

 

Bofur’s stomach flipped over and his heart fluttered a bit.

 

“Where was that?” he asked, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

 

Bilbo smiled at him.

 

“With you,” he said simply.

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and the others prepare for battle.

Their approach to the camp was noticed long before their arrival, and as expected they were met by armed guards and escorted to Thranduil’s tent.

 

The moment they stepped inside the argument that had been raging stopped, and everyone turned to face them.

 

Thranduil looked almost bored, but as Bofur looked closer he could see the Elf’s eyes blazing and realized the projected ennui was merely a guise for how angry he truly was.

 

Bard stood on his left, and Bofur was immensely relieved that he stepped toward them without hesitation and greeted both him and Kíli warmly.  Kíli returned the greeting enthusiastically although his eyes were busy looking around Bard to Tauriel, who stood stiffly on Thranduil’s right.

 

Bofur could not help but notice the third Elf in the tent, so tall and blond Bofur knew he must be Thranduil’s son, Legolas, the one that had helped them fight off the Orcs in Bard’s home before disappearing to chase Bolg.

 

If Thranduil was furious, Legolas was positively enraged.  The looks he was throwing all of them were cutting, but the ones directed toward Kíli in particular would have dropped the young dwarf dead where he stood, were elves capable of such a thing.

 

Bofur wondered for a moment what could possibly have upset him so, and then it hit him like a mine collapse.  He stopped himself from groaning aloud only by the barest of margins.

 

_Oh, Kíli,_ he thought to himself, _you really have put your hand in the hornet’s nest with this one._

 

He snuck a quick glance at Tauriel and was very pleased to see her face soften as she looked at Kíli, and the corners of her eyes crinkle ever so slightly.

 

_Well, at least_ that’s _all still the same,_ he thought to himself, amused.   _Thank Mahal for small favors._

 

*

 

The rest of the meeting was downhill from there.

 

Despite Bofur working harder to charm him than he had ever worked to charm anyone, despite Bard agreeing to forgo any sort of assistance from Erebor for the time being, despite even Tauriel speaking for them, Thranduil refused to yield.

 

Bofur had never been so frustrated.  He was ready to smash the furniture to splinters and pull out his own braids.

 

“But Highness, please,” he forced himself to say calmly, trying to push the image of grabbing Thranduil’s head and banging it several times onto the table firmly out of his head.  “You must understand.  Thorin is not himself.  He will not see reason, not concerning the Arkenstone anyway.  You must know of Dáin’s arrival, yes?  Thorin would rather go to war than come to any sort of agreement with you!”

 

Shrugging, the Elven King turned away and Bofur saw the color red before feeling a small and gentle hand on his arm.

 

“Sire, _please,”_ Bilbo spoke up, his voice strong and clear.  “Please, can you not give us more time?  Time to reason with our companions without the threat of violence hanging over our every word?”

 

Thranduil waved him off with a gesture so casually superior Bofur wanted to pop the eyes out of his smug head.

 

“The Line of Durin is known for this weakness,” the Elven King said almost tonelessly.  “I could have told you that, Master Baggins, and saved you this trouble.  Thorin Oakenshield will never agree to give us anything, and the only way we will see what we came for is if we take it.”

 

Bard spoke up at that.

 

“I know why I am here,” he said.  “My city lies in ruins and the Master has escaped with what little wealth remained to us.  But why are _you_ here?  What is it you seek that cannot wait a while longer?”

 

The Elf turned and fixed the Man with a cool gaze, hardly blinking.

 

Bard looked back steadily at first but his confidence withered the longer the Elf held his gaze until finally he dropped his eyes and looked away.

 

“Such a thing is no concern of yours, Bard of Laketown,” Thranduil said a touch triumphantly.  “Rest assured, though, I will get what I have come for before I return to the Greenwood.”

 

Bofur felt himself going a little mad, confronted as he was by such stubbornness and inflexibility.  He could not believe war seemed a more attractive option than some manner of compromise and was about to open his mouth to say just that when the tent flap flew open and Gandalf stormed in.

 

“Cease this bickering and find common ground or all will perish,” he thundered.  “There is an army of Orcs led by the Defiler little more than a day’s ride away!”

 

“Gandalf!” cried Bilbo, and raced forward to embrace the wizard.

 

Gandalf wrapped one arm around him as he looked up at Kíli and Bofur, for once completely surprised.  

 

And then he saw the look on Bofur’s face.

 

“What on earth has happened?” he asked.

 

*

 

Hours later, Bilbo and Bofur sat outside on a small hillside, sharing a pipe and looking up at the stars.

 

There had been a flurry of planning - first Bard and Thranduil, and then expanding to include the dwarves with Dáin’s arrival.

 

Balin, Dwalin and Thorin had come down from Erebor to attend the War Council, but Thorin had made it painfully clear he had no interest in speaking with Bofur, so there was no opportunity to try to reach him.

 

Kíli had slipped out as soon as Thorin had arrived, correctly assuming that in his compromised state Thorin would not realize he was not back in the Mountain with his brother.

 

Exactly _where_ he had gone was a mystery but Bofur had his suspicions.  Tauriel had been a part of the Council, but Bofur could not help but notice how quickly she had ducked out as soon as the planning had ended.

 

He and Bilbo had looked at each other, and the hobbit had offered him a small smile before shrugging and looking away, sighing.

 

Bofur wished them both well, and fervently hoped they found what they each were looking for.

 

*

 

They sat in the silence and smoked.

 

Finally Bilbo asked, “Do you really believe I should be punished for stealing the Arkenstone?”

 

Bofur sighed deeply, and watched the curls of smoke lift up into the night air before they disappeared.

 

“Oh, Bilbo,” he said quietly, “That was largely to placate Thorin.  I was so worried - we all were - that he was really going to kill you.”

 

“Ah,” Bilbo said and fell silent again.  Then after a few moments -

 

“Yes, but you did not answer my question,” he pressed, very gently.  “Even knowing _why_ I did it, do you believe I should be somehow held accountable?”

 

Bofur hesitated only briefly.

 

“Yes,” he said.

 

“Ah,” Bilbo said again.

 

They sat together, not speaking, until the dawn.

 

*

 

Just before daybreak, Kíli found them.

 

He looked remarkably calm and at peace, though Bofur could not help but notice his eyes were as red-rimmed as they had been when he and Tauriel had parted in Laketown.

 

“Are you well, lad?” Bofur asked quietly, after Bilbo excused himself to give them some privacy.  “As well as you can be, anyway?”

 

Kíli nodded, and his smile was full of warmth.

 

“It was just as I have heard it would be,” he confided bashfully.  “Familiar yet thrilling, full of comfort yet completely new and fresh.  It was a lifetime in only a handful of hours but it also felt like mere moments, do you know what I mean?"  He flushed pink and sighed, smiling more widely.   "Or am I still too addlepated to make a lick of sense?”  Then the smile turned into a full, silly grin and he suddenly embraced Bofur and held him very tightly.

 

“She is... _everything,”_ he murmured, and Bofur’s eyes filled with tears as he embraced Kíli back.  “And to walk beside her for all the days I have left would be the greatest gift Mahal could ever give me.”

 

“Oh, Kíli,” Bofur murmured.  “My little light.  I am so very happy you have found your One.  May you be as happy…”  He paused to gather himself and then said quietly, “May you be as happy as you truly deserve to be.  How lucky I am to call you kin.”

 

Kíli pulled away a bit and Bofur could see he had tears in his eyes as well.

 

“Don’t start with all of that, now,” he chided gently.  “You may make me cry _after_ the battle as much as you like but to cry before will only damage my fierce reputation.”

 

Bofur laughed a little in spite of himself, and Kíli grinned again.

 

“Now,” he said firmly, “let’s show those fucking Orcs they’ve crossed the wrong Dwarves.”

 

*

 

Gandalf came to fetch Bilbo and Bofur not long after sunrise.

 

“Bilbo, you come with me,” he said.  “I want you far away from what is about to happen here.  Do you still have your sword?”

 

Bilbo nodded.

 

“Good,” said Gandalf, plainly relieved. “I am sending you to where they will set up the healing tents, and the chance that you will be in danger there is very minimal.  Still, it is best to be prepared.”

 

He then looked at Bofur.

 

“And you, Bofur.  Will you stand with the Dwarves today?” he asked.

 

Bofur bristled.

 

“I am a Dwarf, am I not?” he growled.  “No matter what has occurred between Thorin and me, I will stand and fight.”

 

“Good, good,” Gandalf said, almost absently. “It would be wise, in that case, if you sought out Dáin’s battalions.  Thorin will lead our Company himself from Erebor but joining them would mean crossing the Desolation immediately, and alone.”

 

Bofur shook his head.

 

“I will stand with Dáin,” was all he said.

 

Gandalf looked at him, really looked at him for the first time that morning, and Bofur felt laid bare under the searching gaze.  He drew himself up and glared back defiantly.

 

“Good luck to you, then,” Gandalf said mildly.  “May Mahal guide your footsteps today and may we meet again at sunset.”

 

“By Mahal’s grace, I will be there,” Bofur responded without thought.

 

Bilbo then cleared his throat.

 

“Be safe today, Bofur,” he said quietly.  “I wish...well, I suppose it’s too late for any of that, isn’t it?”

 

Bofur snorted and drew Bilbo in for an embrace.

 

“You be safe as well,” he whispered.  “And may the blessings of the Valar follow you.”

 

Bilbo squeezed him tightly and then stepped back, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

 

“I will see you at the end of all this, yes?” he said hoarsely.  “Promise me.”

 

Bofur managed a small smile.

 

“We Broadbeams are too stubborn to die,” he said mildly.  “Don’t you worry one bit about me.”

 

Bilbo smiled back and nodded, and then turned to follow Gandalf.

 

“Bilbo.”

 

The hobbit turned back around questioningly.

 

Bofur took a deep breath to steady himself.

 

“Whatever your crime,” he said gently, “you have paid for it tenfold with your courage and loyalty.  I’m sorry for what I said last night.  I was wrong.”

 

Bilbo smiled widely and warmly at him.

 

“Thank you for that,” he said gratefully.  “You will never know how much that means to me.”

 

He reached out to grasp Bofur’s hand in both of his.

 

“Now,” he said gruffly, clearly trying not to weep, “go and be well, so that you and Thorin may return to each other when all this foolishness is behind us.”

 

Bofur pulled him into another embrace, and then they parted without looking back.

 

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A resolution.

Bilbo’s confession had strange and opposing effects - they both relaxed a bit in the wake of it, but the air between them was now charged in a new way.

 

Frodo continued to entertain himself in the sitting room, oblivious to the change.

 

They sat looking at each other, not speaking.

 

It seemed to Bofur as if, for all he thought he’d loved the hobbit before, he’d never really _seen_ Bilbo the way he was seeing him now.  His gentle demeanor was still very much evident, but there was so much more to him now; as if all that had happened in the past several years had taken root and stripped away much of the innocence and simplicity, leaving behind something more weary but also more rich; a deeper understanding of the way of the world that had made him not bitter but rather wiser and somehow stronger.

 

Another long moment passed and then, plucking up all his courage, he reached his hand across the table slowly, palm up.

 

Bilbo’s eyes glanced down to it and then back up to Bofur.

 

The smile almost bloomed across his lovely face - small and sweet but not tentative at all.

 

Bofur suddenly realized he was holding his breath.

 

Bilbo noticed too, and he laughed quietly as he reached out to grasp the offered hand.

 

“You behave as if you think I will run away, like a startled fawn,” he teased as he gently squeezed Bofur’s hand.  “You have nothing to fear - I did not come all this way with a child to dart back again at the first sign of tenderness.”

 

Bofur laughed a little at that, and squeezed back.

 

“I can still hardly believe you’re here,” he admitted, drawing his chair closer to Bilbo’s so their hands would not be extended so far.  “After all this time, and all my letters…”

 

Bilbo cleared his throat nervously and tried to pull back his hand but Bofur clung to it stubbornly, pressing it gently in his.

 

“Please,” he said quietly, “please don’t pull away from me.”

 

Bilbo humphed a little but relaxed his hand, although he turned his face away.

 

“I...regret not writing you back,” Bilbo said quietly.  “As angry as I was - “

 

“As you had every right to be,” Bofur interrupted gently, moving even closer.

 

Bilbo threw him a quick glance and then looked away again, that small smile still on his face.

 

“Yes, well…” he started and then paused.  “It was terribly shocking, you know.  Such private... _thoughts_ and, well - “ he paused again, and this time when he looked at Bofur the dwarf could see he was blushing.

 

Bofur opened his mouth to speak but Bilbo rushed on, his eyes fixed on their joined hands.

 

“It’s only...all of that...I would never have told you any of it.”  Bofur squeezed his hand again and Bilbo looked up, his face miserable.  “It was so wrong of me to feel that way and then for you to _know_ about it all…”

 

He gave a shuddering sigh and then said, “It was mortifying.  Absolutely mortifying.  To have you see into my heart like that, without invitation, and to have what you were seeing be a source of shame to me - “

 

Bofur shook his head, keeping the hobbit's hand clasped firmly in his.

 

“I see no shame in any of it,” he said quietly.  “You felt as you did and were entirely respectful about it.  It is _I_ who should be, and am, ashamed.  It was _I_ who looked into your heart, as you say, without invitation.  I have regretted that so deeply these past years.  That is why I wrote to you, to ask your forgiveness.  And when I heard nothing back…”

 

Bilbo sighed again.

 

“You assumed I did not forgive you," he muttered, looking anywhere but at Bofur.  "And that I never would.”

 

Bofur nodded.

 

Bilbo kept his gaze lowered but had ceased trying to pull his hand away.  “I wrote _everything_ in those letters,” he finally said.  “Things that even...well, I mean...no matter - “  He cleared his throat nervously and continued.  “No matter how close we might have become, I would not have confessed to many of those feelings for a very long time.  And I don’t know that I _ever_ would have told you how long I’d been carrying them.  But there you were, standing in the midst of them all and I knew, I _knew_ \- all those concerns and cares were for nothing.  Everything about me was just...laid bare.  I no longer had any say in any of it.”

 

He looked up suddenly and Bofur was struck by how bright and sharp his eyes were.

 

“You had taken my choice away,” he said, and there was no accusation in his voice, only a quiet strength.  “And as angry as I was, I was even more frightened that…” He stopped again and this time when he drew back his hand, Bofur did not protest.  “To see you there, and realize that you knew, I was terrified you would be... _disgusted_ by me.  Would want nothing more to do with me.”

 

Bofur felt sick.

 

“How could you think such a thing?” he asked, utterly dismayed.  “Oh, Bilbo, if only - did you _read_ any of my letters?  Or Dís’s?”

 

Bilbo flushed and shook his head, scrubbing his face with his hands in frustration.  “No.  I couldn’t, I just _couldn’t._  I couldn’t bear to read anything that might say you were so sorry, and that you cared for me too but could never…”

 

Bofur opened his mouth to protest but Bilbo spoke over him in a rush.  “I travelled with you all for months!  I was told so many stories about Dwarves and their Ones.  I always knew it would be...well, almost an insult for me to share my feelings with you.  That not only would you never reciprocate you would be offended I had even said anything, _felt_ anything.  All that time, all those years yearning and pining and _knowing_ I would destroy everything between us if you were ever to find out.”

 

Bofur sat back in his chair, speechless.

 

“Oh, Bilbo,” he said, stunned.  “I did not...those stories...well, for many of us that’s all they are.  Stories.  Not all dwarves believe they have a One.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes widened a bit.  “They don’t?”

 

Bofur shook his head.  “No.  Some believe as Dís does.  That we are not a people who love others easily, others who are not kin I mean, and that this rarity has led some to believe we are fated to love only once.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed a bit as he said, “I don’t care what every other dwarf on Arda thinks.  What about _you?_  Do _you_ believe in Ones?  Was Thorin your One?”

 

He looked so fierce and bold and yet somehow completely vulnerable.  Bofur felt humbled by his bravery - to have come to Ered Luin not knowing what he would find, believing the worst and yet hoping for the best.

 

_So brave, always so brave._

 

He thought about Thorin, and how thrilling and powerful their love had been; how it had answered questions he had never thought to ask; how it had challenged him and excited him and made him feel fulfilled.  For the first time in his life he had felt more than the sum of his parts - he’d belonged to something larger, and there had been a purpose to his days beyond mere survival.

 

Then he thought on Bilbo - a light in empty darkness, and full of a gentle kindness that had helped him find his way back from the shock of loneliness and heartbreak.  Bilbo was open affection and support and acceptance, a softer fire than Thorin - the warmth of a hearth and home rather than the consuming heat of a burning forge.

 

He was a different dwarf with them both and yet both brought out and accepted without question all that he was.  Thorin had given him strength; Bilbo had helped him remember the strength he already possessed.  Thorin had filled him with passion; Bilbo filled him with wonder.

 

They were nothing alike and but he was everything he could be with both of them, the very best of himself.

 

“I loved Thorin with all I had,” he said slowly, trying hard to find the right words, sensing Bilbo was so tentative, that despite his earlier bravery he was ready to bolt like a rabbit if he heard something that frightened him.

 

“He was my lover and my friend...my partner.  We chose to bind our lives together and in the eyes of our families we were as good as wed.”

 

Bilbo was nodding but Bofur could see his eyes were growing distant, as if he was looking ahead to the end of things and seeing there was no place for him.

 

“But,“ he said quietly, and Bilbo looked up, surprised.

 

“Yes?” he asked.

 

“He is dead,” Bofur answered simply.  “He is dead and I am not.  And while I believed him to be my One for many, many years I do not know what to believe now.”

 

They were silent, and then Bilbo asked hesitantly -

 

“Why?  What has changed?”

 

Bofur smiled.

 

“Oh, Bilbo,” he said warmly.  “I think you must know what has changed.”

 

Bilbo blushed and looked away, and then looked back and blushed even more deeply.

 

“Do you...do you mean me?” he asked softly.  “Am _I_ what has changed?”

 

Bofur slowly slid his chair even closer and reached out his hand again.

 

“Aye,” he said, smiling at Bilbo’s pink cheeks and shy, quick glances. “And it was terribly confusing and upsetting for so long but now...now I have decided why must one have anything to do with the other?  Why must there be a choice, or a...a _victor_ of some kind?”

 

He began to run his fingers up and down Bilbo’s arm very lightly, keeping his eyes fixed on the hobbit’s face.  

 

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and shivered a little, which went right to Bofur’s cock.

 

_Oh, it_ has _been a long time,_ he thought ruefully as he shifted uncomfortably.   _Best control yourself or watch him dart out of here with young Frodo in tow, never to be seen again._

 

He took a deep breath and continued softly, “Why can I not be content in my love for Thorin, as I wish to be content in my love for you?”

 

Bilbo opened his eyes and Bofur's breath stuck in his throat as he saw the warm desire reflected there.  The hobbit focused his gaze on Bofur's mouth and Bofur watched helplessly as Bilbo’s tongue darted out, pink and wet, licking his lips before he glanced back up and caught Bofur’s eyes.

 

“Why…” He stopped and swallowed hard.  “Why _“wish”?_  Why are you not already content in your…”  He looked away bashfully.  “Your.. _.love_ for me?”

 

Bofur’s smile widened and he said mildly, “How can I be content when we have not yet confessed our feelings to each other?  Face to face, openly and honestly?”

 

Bilbo snorted and glanced back.

 

“You...I mean...you _know_ how I feel,” he managed, turning more and more red and yet his eyes...his _eyes_...there was nothing embarrassed or bashful in _them._

 

Laughing a little, Bofur slid even closer and, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Frodo was safely occupied, he leaned over to murmur in Bilbo’s daintily pointed ear, “Aye, I think I do, but after so long it would do my heart good to hear you say it.  Please?”

 

And then, very delicately, very deliberately, he brushed his lips against the tip of the hobbit’s ear.

 

The response was remarkable.  Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered all over, a thin whine escaping tightly closed lips.  He peeked his eyes open and gasped a bit, shuddering again and fixing Bofur with a dazed look he whispered, “Ohhh, you should not do such thing to a hobbit in mixed company.  Our ears are...well, they...they’re quite... _sensitive.”_

 

Bofur pulled back a bit, a tiny bit alarmed but undeniably excited.

 

“Apologies,” he said, a little guiltily.  “I should have asked before - “

 

And then Bilbo closed the space between them and kissed him.

 

Moaning softly, Bofur turned his head a bit to catch Bilbo’s mouth more easily.  The hobbit tasted of sweet tea and honey and after a brief, chaste moment, Bofur felt Bilbo’s tongue softly swiping at his closed mouth; and he opened it eagerly, longing to be even closer.

 

Their kiss deepened and Bofur sighed when the hobbit’s small hands reached up to grasp his face, his thumbs caressing his cheekbones and pulling Bofur even closer.

 

There was real fire now growing in his belly, and Bofur could not help but growl a bit as Bilbo drew back, and he leaned forward to chase him; kissing his neck, his jaw, bringing his own hands up to coax the hobbit to stay where he was, lightly gripping his shoulders as his sucked on his throat, bringing up a bruise and thrilling at the sight of it.  He moved closer still to nip, gently, so gently, at Bilbo’s ear and that was when the hobbit firmly pushed him away, laughing a little breathlessly.

 

“No more of that, please!” he almost whispered, looking around Bofur to where Frodo sat playing.  “Or I will have you here on your table, with no further thought to discussion or decorum.”

 

If Bofur had thought he was aroused before…

 

“And how is it you expect me to cease when you tell me _that?”_ he whispered back, reaching a hand out to tug at Bilbo’s shirt collar, untying the laces there.  He grinned when Bilbo slapped it away and gave him a firm finger wag, warning him off any further foolishness.

 

Bilbo shook his head a little as if to clear it and ran his hands through his hair, laughing quietly again.

 

“Do you still need to hear me tell you how I feel?” he asked teasingly.

 

Bofur pushed back in his chair until he was balancing on the back two legs.  He folded his arms behind his head and grinned more widely when he saw Bilbo’s breath catch as he looked at him stretched out and displayed in such a way.

 

He had forgotten how utterly wonderful it felt to be like this - in love with one who loved you back.  

 

And to be _desired_ \- that felt pretty wonderful too.

 

“Please,” he said.

 

Bilbo blushed, and looked down at his hands, smiling a little.  Bofur brought the chair down with a thunk and sat up straight, suddenly very curious and almost nervous.  All at once something he had thought about and dreamed of was seemingly moments away and the weight of that was thrilling yet sobering too.

 

He remembered Thorin, and their night in Bag End so long ago - living a life of waiting until that single moment when the waiting was finally done.

 

When Bilbo looked up and smiled widely at him, Bofur’s heart leapt.

 

“I love you,” he said simply.  “I have loved you for so long I scarcely remember a time in my life when I did not think on you, long for you, want to see you smile.  I had thought never to have a chance with you, other than to be the very best friend I could be and support you in your grief, and now…”  He broke off and looked again at his lap.  Sighing, he raked his hands fretfully through his hair again and continued, “Now knowing you feel the same I am suddenly shy and find I do not know what to make of it all.”

 

Bofur reached out to cup his face gently, and Bilbo sighed as his eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the touch a little.

 

“To be offered all that you have ever wanted…” he trailed off and then said, “It is a bit overwhelming, albeit in the most lovely way.”

 

He leaned forward and Bofur met him part way, pressing their foreheads together and breathing each other in.  Bilbo’s hands came up to grasp Bofur’s wrist and he pulled his hand to his lips and sweetly kissed the palm.

 

“Oh, Bofur,” he murmured, his eyes opening as he pulled back and squeezed Bofur’s hand, kissing it again.  “I love you so much.  I am sorry it took me so long to come to you.”

 

Bofur felt his eyes fill with tears and he blinked them away as he said thickly, “It doesn’t matter.  You’re here now.  And I love you too.”

 

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and a resolution of a different kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I reread this today before posting I realized it makes several references to the first part of this series - Somewhere, a part of my life. You do not need to read that to follow anything in this...just know several of the moments discussed here occur in that story.

When the moment finally came, he was alone in the tent with Thorin.

 

Bilbo had been located and rushed in so that the king might make amends before he died.  That the hobbit had looked so devastated touched Bofur deeply as it was entirely unexpected.  After what Thorin had done, Bofur was altogether uncertain Bilbo would even want to _see_ him ever again but, gracious and courageous as always, he had agreed to come when summoned and, even more importantly, he had accepted what Bofur knew to be a heartfelt apology.

 

Bofur himself had stayed at the king’s side, wiping the blood from his mouth and offering him water whenever his coughing became too severe for him to speak clearly.

 

*

 

It had fallen to him to tell Thorin of his nephews’ fate.

 

The king had physically recoiled from the news.

 

“Both?” he whispered.

 

Bofur nodded.

 

Thorin’s eyes squeezed shut and the air rattled out of him as he sighed, punctuated with a wet, raw cough that filled his mouth with blood.

 

Bofur leaned over and gently cleaned his face with one shaking hand, the other stroking the king's head softly.

 

Thorin’s eyes opened again and Bofur saw how shot through with red they were, almost obscuring their brilliant blue.

 

He felt his heart stutter but with every bit of strength he had left he steadied his hand and continued his ministrations.

 

“Fíli...and Kíli too?   _Both_ of them?” Thorin asked again, almost pleading to hear anything other than the truth of the matter.  Bofur had never heard Thorin sound anything like this in all their time together - helpless, frightened and full of so much pain.

 

“Oh, my heart,” Bofur said quietly.  “My dearest heart.  I am so sorry.”

 

Thorin moaned and covered his face with his hands, turning away from Bofur.  He began to shake and weep until he was almost wailing, and then wailing melted into more coughing, harsh and heavy.  Bofur pulled his little chair closer and reached out, tentatively at first and then, when the coughing began, more firmly.  He pressed a hand onto the back of Thorin’s neck and rubbed gently, the other hand resting softly on the king’s shoulder.  He began to hum, just nonsense, but after a few moments Thorin began to still, the coughing growing quieter and the sobbing winding down.

 

Bofur hummed on, his hands caressing, thinking how powerfully he loved, how he would do anything to be able to turn back time and save Fíli and Kíli; of Kili’s eyes as he died, so heartbroken and lost.  

 

That last memory began to burn inside of him and he shoved it away, leaning over Thorin to see if he had fallen asleep.

 

Thorin’s eyes were open.

 

Bofur sat back as the king rolled over to face him.

 

“Did you...were you there?” he asked hoarsely.  “Did you see them?”

 

“Aye, I saw them,” Bofur said.  “I did not see them fall but I was there for the end.  For Kíli.  Fíli was already...he was gone before I could - “

 

This time no matter how hard he pushed it down the burning stayed and his voice cracked under it.  

 

“He was gone before I could be there.  I’m sorry,” he finished finally, tears rolling down his face.  “Thorin, I’m so sorry.”

 

Shaking his head slowly, Thorin said, “Bofur.  Please.  Tell me of Kíli.”

 

Bofur sighed.  “Thorin - “

 

Thorin’s hand reached out and grasped Bofur’s.

 

“Please,” he said again.

 

Bofur told him.

 

*

 

When he was finished, he smiled a bit and said, “You would have been so proud of him.  He thought only of you and Fíli ( _and Tauriel,_ he thought but kept that to himself).  He was so relieved you lived.”

 

Thorin smiled a bit too, his lips crusted with blood.  Bofur took one of the clean clothes the healers had left for him and dipped it into the water basin, wetting it and carefully wiping the blood away.

 

Thorin’s eyes closed as Bofur worked.

 

“Always so gentle,” he whispered.  “A large part of why they loved you so.  So different from their mother and me.  Soft and gentle...and kind.”

 

Bofur’s eyes filled with tears.

 

“You make me sound like a tree-shagger,” he said gruffly.  “You and Dís loved those boys with everything you had.  They knew that.”

 

Thorin smiled a little wider, and Bofur’s heart ached to see it.

 

“Aye,” Thorin said, “but you were always the one to comfort.  They thought the world of you.  Especially Kíli.”

 

It was more than Bofur could take.  He looked down at his hands and began to weep in earnest.

 

“I loved them too,” he sobbed.  “So much.  I feel as if I...I will never be at peace again.”

 

Thorin sighed, a damp, shuddering sound.

 

“That is where I have the advantage, I think,” he whispered.  “I shall not have to endure that feeling for much longer.”

 

Bofur gasped and reached a hand out to cup Thorin’s face.

 

“Please,” he choked out around his tears.  “Please, you cannot leave me too.  I will go mad, I will!  How can you expect me…”  He drew his hand back and pressed it against his eyes as he closed them tightly.

 

“How can you ask such a thing of me?” he implored hoarsely.  “You are my beating heart and the song in my very soul.  I will never...I will never, could never, love another as I love you.  Please, you cannot leave me behind.”

 

He felt a hand gently pulling his away from his face and he looked down to see Thorin struggling to sit up.  Instantly he stopped weeping and moved to help him, grabbing cushions and rearranging the bedding to help support him.

 

“Stay still,” he scolded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.  “They have all said you must stay still if you do not wish - “

 

“Bofur.”

 

Bofur’s jaw snapped shut at the unmistakable command in that voice, as quiet and thready as it was.

 

Thorin sat watching him, the bandages wrapped around his middle growing dark with fresh blood,  the shuddering effort of his chest rising and falling terrifying to see.

 

But he was so _Thorin_ in that moment, more than he had been in months - clear, strong, sharp.  Bofur’s heart fluttered just looking at him, the way it always had; the way it had the very first time he’d ever seen him, far off in the distance.  He hadn’t even known his name but he’d known everything he would ever need to know in that instant.

 

_That_ was the Thorin in front of him now.

 

And seeing that Thorin after such a long time made Bofur’s heart spill over with more emotion than it could hold.  He couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.  He could only look and fall even deeper.

 

Thorin coughed again, and this time when he spoke his voice was thick with blood.

 

“Would you...would you hold me?” he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed.  “I’m so cold, Bofur.  Hold me, please.”

 

Those words snapped Bofur out of his paralysis and he rose and moved onto the cot, sliding in behind Thorin, his arms encircling the king.  Thorin relaxed back against him and hummed contentedly, his own arms coming up to embrace Bofur’s.

 

Bofur buried his face in Thorin’s hair, breathing in the smell of blood and dust.  That there was so little of the lingering scent he had come to know in his bones as Thorin made him begin to weep again, but he tried desperately to hide it in the dark cascade of hair.

 

“ - give me?”

 

Bofur shook himself out of his miserable pining.  “What, my heart?”

 

Taking a shallow breath, Thorin repeated, “Can you forgive me?”

 

Bofur hid his face again in the comfort of his lover’s hair.  “Nothing to forgive,” he murmured.

 

A bark of laughter led to a terrible fit of coughing.  Bofur looked up, panicked.   _He sounds as if he is drowning,_ he thought frantically, combing his hands through the dark, tangled tresses, humming softly into Thorin’s ear, trying to calm him.

 

“Everything to forgive,” Thorin finally managed.  His breathing was so shallow, and Bofur could feel the tight, labored rise and fall of his chest as he lay with his back pressed against Bofur’s chest. _“Everything_ to forgive.”

 

Bofur shushed him very gently and squeezed him a little, so very carefully.

 

They sat holding each other quietly, the only sound in the tent Thorin’s labored breathing.

 

“It’s all right, you know,” Bofur said after a long moment.  “I understand.  I do, I truly do.  Someone must go ahead and keep an eye on those two.   Who knows what could happen to the Halls if they are left to their own devices for too long?  Best go and keep them in line.”

 

Thorin snorted softly and Bofur felt him press his lips to Bofur’s arm.

 

“I’m not sure even _I_ am strong enough to do that,” he said, and Bofur knew without looking he was smiling again.

 

He smiled too, even though he was still weeping.

 

The silences between them were soft and full of comfort and almost against his will Bofur felt himself begin to relax, his limbs growing looser and easier as he curled himself more closely around Thorin.

 

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Thorin asked suddenly, his voice thick and heavy.

 

Bofur laughed a little.

 

“I was just reflecting on that time, actually,” he said.  “We clearly think in a similar manner.  Perhaps we should be partners - what do you say?”

 

Thorin’s laugh whistled out of him and Bofur, alarmed he would begin to cough again, rocked him a bit and kissed behind his ear.

 

“I recall looking down at you after I knocked you down,” Thorin began but Bofur interrupted.

 

“‘twas my fault entirely,” he said warmly, remembering.  “I was in such a mad rush to get to you I all but ran you over!  Only you were dense as the mountain itself and about as immovable so it was I who ended up sprawled out on my arse.”

 

Thorin’s chuckle was more of a wheeze, and Bofur was both heartened and frightened to hear it.

 

“I remember turning and looking down at you and seeing first that hat, that fucking absurd _hat - “_

 

“Here now!” Bofur protested lightly, glancing over a little guiltily to where his hat lay almost forgotten on the floor.  “I’ve known that hat longer than I’ve known you so I’ll thank you kindly to show it the esteem it deserves.”

 

There was a moment of silence and Bofur was about to say something else when Thorin said very quietly, “Aye, you’re right.  And it’s been a far more loyal companion than I have been, that is certain.”

 

Bofur grunted and shifted himself a little, very carefully, so he could look into Thorin’s eyes.

 

“None of that now, yes?” he said sternly.  “I won’t have you speak about my One that way.  He is the finest dwarf I’ve ever known and - “ he broke off and swallowed a sob.  “he deserves every bit of respect you have to give.  Every bit.”

 

Thorin’s smile was so warm it took Bofur’s breath away.

 

“Oh, Bofur,” was all he said.  “My Bofur.”

 

Bofur leaned over and gently knocked his forehead against Thorin’s.

 

“Now, I do believe you were going to say something unbearably romantic,” he said softly, his thumb tracing Thorin’s lips, “before you were distracted by the greatest hat in all of Arda.  Understandable, of course, but if it’s all the same to you - “ he leaned forward and kissed Thorin’s eyelids.  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather like to hear what you were going to say.”

 

Thorin whuffed out a chuckle and then sighed a little.

 

“I must remember to thank Mahal when we finally meet,” he murmured.  “You have been such a blessing.  Leaving you...it breaks my heart.  I only wish -

 

Bofur pressed his finger harder on Thorin’s lips to still them, and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“Don’t,” he finally managed.  “Please.  There’s so little...I don’t...let there be no regrets.   I forgive everything, I don’t care, and I would not trade one moment of our time together for a lifetime with anyone else.”

 

Nodding, Thorin grasped Bofur’s arm and pulled it more tightly around him.

 

“You’re right, my heart,” he whispered.  “There is no more time.”

 

They sat quietly for a moment and then Bofur said -

 

“I knew before we had even met.  Have I ever told you that?”

 

Thorin looked up and smiling, whispered, "And if I said no, would you tell me now?  Please?"

 

Bofur smiled.

 

“I saw you when you were all still a fair distance away, before you entered Ered Luin,” he said, his heart swelling at the memory.  “That’s why I was running, why I knocked into you.  I knew even then.  You were for me,  and I was yours.  Only yours.”

 

His voice grew softer and softer as he spoke, and he moved them around again so that he was cradling Thorin in his lap, holding him closely and nuzzling his hair.

 

“And then to see you there...those eyes - “ he broke off, chuckling ruefully.  “Those eyes have always been my undoing.  It is completely unfair, how beautiful your eyes are.  They’re as blue as the hottest flame but so clear, so...so _soft,_ they can be so _soft_ when you...when we…”

 

He broke off again.

 

Thorin stirred a little in his lap.

 

“I saw the hat first and then...ah, Bofur.”  He smiled and closed his eyes.  “When you looked up at me it was as if you reached into my chest and pulled my heart out.” A sigh slipped out, soft and feathery.  “But it felt...beautiful, and.. _.safe,_ so very safe.  Not since I was a child had I felt so protected.  So loved.”

 

Bofur shut his eyes against the sting of tears.

 

“You have always been that, my heart,” he said quietly.  “From the first moment I ever saw you, I have loved you.  So much.  So much.”

 

Thorin sighed.

 

“So blessed,” he whispered.  “The luckiest dwarf in Arda.  D’you remember when you asked why you were there?  That first night?  I’d made such an ass of myself, asking you and your partner, your children, to dinner - “

 

Bofur laughed quietly.

 

“Oh, I could never forget that,” he teased gently.  “It was very smooth, that.  Very subtle.”

 

They shook together for a moment in near-silent laughter.

 

Thorin’s resulting cough was an sober reminder of the circumstances.  They did not speak for a long moment and then -

 

“I should not tease you for any of that,” Bofur said finally, caressing Thorin’s matted hair.  “For I was no better.  I nearly fainted with relief when I realized you and Dís were not partners, and saw you had no courting braids in this magnificent mane of yours.”  He lowered his face a bit and nuzzled it, steeling himself against the wretched smell of blood; chasing any familiar, lingering scent he could find.

 

“I do not know what I would have done had you been spoken for,” he admitted slowly.  “Truly.  Everything in me yearned for everything in you so intensely...it was almost frightening.”

 

Thorin hummed in agreement, and Bofur smiled a little and, after a quiet moment, spoke again.

 

“We are told all the stories, yes?  But after so many years I had nearly stopped believing I would ever find you.”  He knocked his forehead against Thorin’s gently in mock frustration. _“Why_ did you take so long to come to Ered Luin?  I had been patient for so long!  Waiting and waiting - “

 

“Though such waiting was not done alone very often, to hear your brother tell it,” Thorin whispered almost slyly, his eyes still closed and a smile creeping back onto his face.

 

Bofur flushed and buried his face in Thorin’s neck, groaning a bit.

 

“Trust you to bring that all up at a time such as this,” he muttered balefully.  “Didn't realize I'd be judged my whole life long for the indiscretions of my youth."

 

Thorin smiled more widely.

 

“S’all right,” he whispered.  “They may have been the appetizers, but I was the main course, yes?  I can live with that.  I can live with that happily.”

 

Bofur snorted and squeezed him again, very gently.

 

“Such a hobbity expression,” he chided, pressing a kiss to Thorin’s temple.  “I say they may have been the accents, but you were the center stone.”

 

Huffing out a small laugh, Thorin relaxed even further, and suddenly Bofur felt the sharp bite of panic in his belly and his bones. 

 

“Wait,” he pleaded.  “Just...just wait, please.  A little longer, _please.”_

 

Thorin sighed, a harsh and ragged sound.

 

“I will try,” he whispered.  “So tired.”

 

Then he smiled wider still.

 

“Bofur,” he whispered urgently, his voice faint but filled with wonder.  “Bofur...my mother.  I see her.  I see her!”

 

And then he called out, startling Bofur, _“Amad!  Amad,_ wait!”

 

“Thorin - “ Bofur moaned.  “I’m not - please, just a few more moments.  There is still so much to - “

 

“Oh, _Amad,_ how I have missed you,” Thorin was murmuring, and his face...his face was so joyful, so at peace; and Bofur pushed his grief back, as hard as he could, and steadied himself.

 

_For him,_ he told himself firmly.   _Not for you.  For him._

 

Thorin gripped his arm with surprising strength.

 

“Her hands, Bofur,” he was whispering, over and over.  “They’re so soft, as soft as I remember them.  I had thought it a dream but it was real, it was all real...Bofur, they’re like velvet, just as I told you, do you remember?”

 

Tears coursed down his face but Bofur’s voice was firm and steady as he said, “Aye, love, I do.  Soft and cool and gentle, yes?  Filled with her love for you.”

 

Thorin was weeping now too.

 

“Yes,” he wept.  “So much love.  Oh, _Amad,_ I have missed you for so long.  We all have.  I am...so happy to see you.”

 

A great lump rose in Bofur’s throat, and he swallowed hard and said, “She’s come to take you home, my sweet heart.  My treasure.  Reach your hand out to her.  See how she smiles at you, how happy she is to see you?  Let her guide you.  She knows the way.”

 

Thorin sighed deeply, his breath catching a tiny bit at the end of it.

 

“Bofur…?” he sighed.  “Are you…here?  Still here?”

 

Bofur nodded as he lifted his head to look into Thorin’s face, relaxed and peaceful.

 

“I am,” he whispered.  “Till the end.”

 

He was so focused on Thorin’s face he felt the hand on his cheek before he saw it being lifted.

 

“My joy,” Thorin whispered.  “Will you be…”

 

Bofur grasped Thorin’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

 

“Go,” he said.  “Be at peace, my own.  Follow your _Amad_ back home and embrace our boys for me.”

 

Thorin’s hand squeezed his briefly.

 

“-ove you…”  And it was done.

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Bofur and Bilbo complete their reconciliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have been very patient...I hope you enjoy!

Dís was thrilled to see Bilbo when she arrived home that evening and even more excited he had brought Frodo with him.  She waved off Bilbo’s attempts at apologizing with a curt, “It’s not for you to apologize, Bilbo.  I know exactly what happened.”  Bofur cringed a little at her harsh tone but was heartened to feel Bilbo’s hand squeeze his and when he looked down at the hobbit, Bilbo’s answering smile told him he was forgiven and he was loved.

 

He was loved.  By Bilbo.

 

Oh, but the very thought of that made his heart race!  And he could not stop grinning...he felt as if someone had opened his head and poured sunshine in, which seemed such an odd thing for a dwarf to be happy about until he realized he was no longer a mere dwarf - he was a dwarf in love with, and loved in return by, a hobbit.

 

Try as he might he could not stop touching Bilbo.  Whether it was holding his hand, pressing a knee to his, tangling their feet together - he needed to be in physical contact with him all the time to feel at ease, needed it the same way he needed air to breathe.

 

Thankfully Bilbo did not seem to mind - if anything he too seemed to feel more relaxed when they touched.  As the evening progressed Bilbo sat closer and closer until he was snuggled right up against Bofur’s chest, with Bofur resting his chin on his head and occasionally nuzzling his cheek against Bilbo’s curls.  

 

Through it all Dís watched and smiled and entertained Frodo and Bofur felt as grateful to her as he ever had.  He was almost drunk with excitement and happiness and could barely think straight, beyond a chant in his head of _he loves me he loves me he loves me._

 

He had been living with his guilt and sorrow and the fear that he had ruined any chance he might have, and bit by bit it had all pressed down on him, scraping his soul and creating a wound he’d barely even noticed, it had been there so long.  It was only now that he realized how deep the pain had been, now that he had Bilbo's presence to soothe it all with.

 

Breathing more deeply than he had in years, Bofur wondered at his luck.  That Bilbo would come all this way not really knowing what it was Bofur felt for him, and fearing the letters had merely been filled with platitudes and gentle but firm denials...well.  Bofur had known how courageous the hobbit was, had never had cause to doubt it, but this one act transcended everything.

 

And for Bilbo to do all this after Bofur’s betrayal...he truly did not know what he had done to deserve such forgiveness.  

 

After supper, the adults sat sharing a pipe out on the front porch while Frodo quietly slumbered inside on Dís’s bed.

 

She had offered up her bed with a knowing smile and Bofur had been so immensely relieved he had lifted her up off the floor when he embraced her.  The looks Bilbo had been sending his way all night had him almost frantic with anticipation and he felt tingles up and down his spine at the knowledge that Bilbo was as eager as he was.

 

But first they sat and smoked, and Bilbo told them about Primula and Drogo’s deaths, and how Frodo had come to live with him.

 

He seemed weary when he spoke of it, and Bofur wondered how close they had become since he had left the Shire.  He knew Bilbo had cared for his cousin and his wife very much but it seemed in the years between then and now they had become very close indeed, and Bilbo clearly still felt their loss keenly, nearly as keenly as Frodo did to Bofur’s eye.

 

He wondered idly if that grief had been what had spurred the hobbit to seek him out in Ered Luin, and immediately felt guilty for thinking that way.  Surely it did not matter why Bilbo had sought him out, only that he had, and that they could now be together. In every sense of the word.

 

The thought of _that_ made Bofur’s mouth go dry and his hands tremble.

 

It felt as if it took a month for the pipe to be finished.

 

When it was, Dís took her leave, practically smirking as she went.

 

“Goodnight, dear Bilbo,” she said, hugging him close.  “I am so terribly glad to see you.”

 

The hobbit smiled up at her and said, “I shall tell you what I told Bofur.  I am very sorry it took me so long to come here.”

 

She shook her head and looked past him to Bofur.  He struggled mightily not to flinch under her scrutiny.

 

“That you have come at all is a small miracle,” she said firmly, fixing him with a steely gaze.  “And I would say I hope Bofur understands and appreciates that but, knowing him as I do, I am certain he does.”

 

She leaned in close again and she and Bilbo murmured to each other for a moment, too quietly for Bofur to hear.  Then she kissed his cheek and bid them both good night.

 

They sat quietly for a moment, simply enjoying the closeness of the other after so long.

 

Bofur broke the silence finally, saying, “Tonight.  We, ummm...we do not need to - “

 

Bilbo laughed quietly.

 

“And here I thought you were excited to be alone with me,” he teased.  “Pushing Frodo off on Dís, rushing her through the evening...was it all to simply say goodnight and hand me a pillow for the sofa?”

 

Bofur grinned and said, “Oh, Bilbo.  Have a little faith.  You’re my guest, and guests are always offered the bed.”

 

“Ahh,” Bilbo replied smartly, his smile lighting up his whole face and making Bofur’s knees feel weak.  “And if there should happen to be a certain dwarf in that bed as well…?”

 

Bofur laughed.  

 

“Well, never let it be said we are not welcoming in Ered Luin,” he grinned.

 

*

 

They made their way back inside slowly, savoring kisses and soft caresses on the porch and in the doorway.

 

His heart lurching a bit, Bofur remembered kissing Thorin for the first time on this very porch, all those years ago - _before Bilbo was even born!_ he thought with a start.

 

He could not help but wonder what Thorin would think of all this, whether he would be as approving as his sister, or if he would be full of jealousy and judgement, as Bofur himself had been when Nori had married Dwalin.

 

_Must remember to write to Nori and tell him,_ he thought hazily, his hands floating down to cup Bilbo’s firm backside and squeeze it gently. _Tell him how wrong I was, about everything.  How could I have ever thought feeling like this wasn’t right?_

 

He squeezed again and savored the catch of Bilbo’s breath and the soft huff of air against his lips as Bilbo moaned a little into their kiss, the sound driving all thoughts of Thorin firmly from his mind.

 

He bent over a bit and hiked Bilbo up, holding him effortlessly as their kisses deepened into something less playful and more hungry.  

 

Stumbling forward, his arms full of squirming hobbit, he stopped briefly to press Bilbo up against the wall, lifting the hobbit's feet to wrap around his waist and burying his face in his throat.

 

“Oh, Bofur,” sighed Bilbo, and his name, oh dear Mahal, hearing his name said like that would be the death of him, it really would.

 

“Bilbo,” he murmured in response, trailing hot, wet kisses down the hobbit’s neck to his collarbone and nipping there gently, his hands squeezing and squeezing.

 

He was almost painfully hard but it felt so _good._  He couldn’t help but grind up against Bilbo as if he were a lad of thirty; grind and groan and seek some relief for the pressure tightening in him.  He buried his face in Bilbo’s neck again and inhaled his smell, cinnamon and cedar and green grass.  He thought he had never smelled anything so right before.

 

Hauling Bilbo up even further he bore down on him, kissing every inch of exposed flesh and working madly to expose even more with one hand while gripping Bilbo’s backside even more firmly with the other.  His fingers barely hesitated over the buttons and ties and he felt Bilbo’s legs tighten around him as the hobbit moaned and turned his head a bit, allowing Bofur easier access to his neck and his now bare chest.

 

He bent his head to one small, dusky nipple and flicked at it with his tongue before sucking it in and biting it very gently.  Bilbo gasped and arched against the wall, his hands scrambling on Bofur’s shoulders, looking for purchase, clutching and caressing. One small hand found its way to Bofur’s braid and he heard Bilbo murmur, “Your hair, may I.. _._ oh, please, Bofur, _don’t stop!_  May I - ahh!  Take it...take it down? _Please?”_

 

The hand that had been unbuttoning Bilbo’s shirt shot up to his braids and, quick as lightening, the aglets were yanked off and dropped unceremoniously on the floor.  Bilbo laughed softly as his hands dove in, working the hair free and combing through it all, letting it fall every which way and spill over Bofur’s shoulders.

 

“So beautiful,” he murmured.  “Who would ever know it was so beautiful?  That hat - “

 

Bofur huffed and bit down again on Bilbo’s nipple, less gently than before.

 

“Not now,” he warned teasingly.  “Berate my hat later, if you please.”

 

Humming his agreement, Bilbo’s mouth found his and Bofur sighed into the kiss, deep and full of eager longing.  Chasing that taste of honey he’d had earlier he hitched Bilbo’s legs up around his waist more firmly and pressed him against the wall even more enthusiastically, his arousal hard and hot and ready to -

 

“Bilbo,” Bofur whispered.  “Here?  Right here?  Because I am swiftly passing the point of no return.”

 

Bilbo snorted.

 

“I think I passed that point some time ago,” he grinned, and leaned in to lick and nip along Bofur’s jawline.

 

Whining, Bofur closed his eyes tightly and tried to breathe, just breathe.

 

Small, gentle hands turned his head and warm breath puffed in his ear as Bilbo said very quietly, “As much as I want to fuck you senseless where we stand, perhaps given the circumstances tonight it is more prudent to retire to your bedroom...which I dearly hope is some distance from Dís’s.”

 

He pulled back and Bofur groaned at how black and hot his eyes were.

 

“I plan on making you scream, you see.”

 

Without thought, Bofur swung them around as quickly as he could and somehow magically managed to stumble, with Bilbo still wrapped around him, through the living room, down the hallway, past the kitchen, through the hastily kicked open door and into his bedroom.

 

They landed on the bed, Bilbo on top of Bofur, and began frantically undressing each other, ceasing their kisses only long enough to pull shirts over heads.  When Bilbo struggled with the fastenings to Bofur’s trousers and began to pull away so that he might see what he was doing, Bofur growled in protest and took over the task himself, almost tearing the fabric in his eagerness.

 

He then set himself to removing Bilbo’s trousers, the bracers having already been conveniently slipped down the hobbit’s arms in order to remove his shirt.  He tugged them open, stubbornly bypassing the ties, and hefted Bilbo up so that he could shinny out of them and kick them off entirely.

 

Now completely naked, Bilbo leaned in and kissed Bofur slowly and languidly, sucking on his tongue and mouthing all along his lips.  

 

He moved up to Bofur’s ear to whisper, “Now you.  Trousers and boots off please.”

 

Bofur gave him a wicked grin.

 

“Not quite yet,” he demured and, grasping the hobbit’s hands, he pulled him up and took his bobbing erection in his mouth.

 

“Ahh!” Bilbo gasped and his head fell back, his eyes glassy.  “Oh, by all the - _Bofur!”_

 

Bofur dropped Bilbo’s hands and gripped his cock firmly with one hand, stroking it up and down and squeezing gently.  His tongue danced all around the head, teasing the small slit there and tasting the saltiness.  Bilbo fell forward and and braced himself against the wall with shaking arms, looking into Bofur’s face, his own expression dazed and lusty.

 

“Oh, if you only knew,” he whispered before his eyes rolled back in his head and fluttered shut.

 

Bofur hummed and sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing out and the hand on Bilbo’s cock moving more quickly.  With the other he reached for Bilbo’s backside, lifting him up a little and encouraging him to move, to thrust into the wet warmth of Bofur’s mouth.

 

Shuddering as he pushed more forcefully, more rhythmically, Bilbo murmured, “I’m so close, Bofur, do you...should I…?”

 

Then he gasped again and said more urgently, “Bofur!  I’m going to...let me - wait!  I...you don’t have to - “

 

Bofur responded by gripping his backside more firmly and laving his tongue all around the weeping head of Bilbo’s cock.

 

Bilbo’s keening raised in pitch and then the hobbit went still as stone and shivered, and Bofur’s mouth was filled with his release.  He swallowed every bit eagerly, licking and sucking and squeezing until Bilbo breathlessly laughed and gripped his face, begging him to stop.

 

The last thing he wanted to do was stop.

 

But he reluctantly let Bilbo’s softening member slide gently from his mouth and he pulled the hobbit down to curl up on his chest.  Bilbo reached up a bit to find his mouth and kissed him with abandon, sighing blissfully when he tasted himself on Bofur’s tongue.

 

Then he pulled back just a little and said, “Well.  I would be lying if I said I have not thought about something very like that for a long, long time.”

 

Bofur smiled and held him closer, kissing the top of his head.

 

“Aye, me too,” he said simply.  “Though I seem to remember a certain hobbit thinking he would be making me scream, and it is very difficult to do that when one’s mouth is full.”

 

Bilbo laughed out loud.

 

“So cheeky!” he said playfully.  “The evening has barely begun!  Trust me, you’ll scream before we are through and then I will send you out to explain to Dís and Frodo just why you are making so much noise.  That will be your punishment for doubting me.”

 

Bofur grinned.

 

“A fair trade indeed,”  he agreed.

 

*

 

“You are so quiet when you finish,” Bofur said a while later, running his hands through Bilbo’s curls.  “One would never know if one were not tasting the evidence.”

 

“Cheeky again!  Bordering on crude!” Bilbo cried, swatting him none-too-gently on the arm.  “I will admit to being a tiny bit self-conscious about our roommates, one of whom is a child!  Is that so wrong?  A child to whom you’ll be explaining yourself in a bit, might I add - I hope you have come up with a good story.”

 

Bofur rolled them over so he was now on top.

 

“And what exactly is wrong with the truth?” he asked, smirking.  “Am I not allowed to say well, Frodo lad - I was buggering your uncle into next week and forgot myself entirely in my ecstasy?”

 

“And are you so sure it will be _you_ doing the buggering?” asked Bilbo slyly, looking up through his lashes.

 

Bofur had to bite his lip to keep from finishing right there.

 

“Bilbo, love,” he managed, “I am ready for anything you desire.”

 

*

 

And a while after that, Bilbo licked his hand slowly and deliberately and reached down between them, grasping Bofur’s arousal and sliding it in and out of his fist.

 

“Is this the part where you make me scream?” Bofur asked impudently before groaning and dropping his head back, his hips lifting off the bed.

 

Bilbo leaned in closer.

 

“I don’t know - is it?” he whispered and then caught Bofur’s mouth in a deep kiss.

 

Bofur huffed out a small laugh before he was helpless to do anything but give in to the kiss, thrilling at the way Bilbo’s tongue in his mouth echoed the strokes of his hand on his cock.  The hobbit paused a moment to wet his palm again before continuing and this time instead of kissing Bofur he moved to his ear and bit at the lobe gently, his tongue darting out to soothe after a particularly hard nip.

 

“Not so cheeky now, are you?” Bilbo whispered.  “Should I tell you of all the times I have thought of doing this?  All the times I dreamed of your hands in my hair, holding my head and fucking my mouth as I did to you?”

 

Bofur groaned deeply and squirmed on the bed, his hips thrusting higher, chasing his release.

 

“Or would you rather hear my dreams of you grabbing my hips and taking me from behind while I wail and call your name, your breath hot in my ear and your hand on my cock?”

 

He could feel it racing toward him now, his stones and his belly growing tight and his breath coming in gasps.

 

Bilbo crawled down the bed, never hesitating in his stroking, so steady and firm and growing quicker, growing harder, his hand squeezing so deliciously.

 

“Should I tell you how I’ve longed to know how you taste?” he whispered and suddenly his mouth was on Bofur’s cock, his mouth and his _tongue,_ everything _hot_ and _wet_ and tongue swirling and his hands gripped Bilbo’s hair as his hips stuttered and he came with a cry, and came and came, so much; but Bilbo swallowed it all and when he could take no more he pulled off, letting it cover his face and Bofur watched dumbfounded as Bilbo’s tongue crept out to lick it off.

 

_Well,_ that _was almost worth the wait,_ he thought to himself.

 

*

 

He found what he was looking for fairly quickly and darted back into the bedroom, clutching the small bottle in his hand.

 

His heart stopped in his chest when he saw Bilbo lying in the middle of the bed, naked and leisurely stroking himself while watching Bofur with a wicked glint in his eye.

 

“I decided to begin without you,” Bilbo said tartly, rolling over to face Bofur, his arousal standing flushed and pink against his belly.  “Whenever you are ready, please feel free to join me.”

 

Bofur caught himself the very second before his fingers would have opened and dropped the bottle he’d snuck out to nick.

 

_Well, that would have cocked things up but good, if I’d spilled this,_ he mused absently, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s hand.   _Because I would have banged on every door in Ered Luin starting right this very moment if that’s what it took to find more of -_

 

“I see you found it,” Bilbo purred, and he pushed himself up to sitting, his erection bouncing in his lap.

 

Then he laughed heartily.

 

“My love,” he said, grinning, “as flattered as I am to see you regard me so, I would much rather you close your mouth and bring that over here so that we might make some use of it.”

 

Bofur’s mouth snapped shut and his feet floated him over to the bed without any thought or control on his part.

 

_By all the Valar,_ he wondered, _I cannot believe this is all actually happening._

 

He knelt on the bed and handed the small glass bottle over to Bilbo wordlessly, his hands helpless against the expanse of soft and creamy flesh that begged to be touched and caressed.  They glided over the hobbit’s soft belly as Bilbo sat back, tugging the cork carefully out of the bottle and smelling the contents.

 

“Oh, but this is really lovely!” he said, all at once changing from seductive bed partner to enthusiastic shop patron.  “Roses and…” He sniffed again.  “A tiny touch of jasmine, I think.  Where did she get this?”

 

Bofur growled and pulled the bottle back.

 

“Shall I go ask her now?” he retorted, “Or can we set aside admiring the scent for a brief moment and remember exactly _why_ I relieved Dís of her favorite bathing oil?”

 

Bilbo grinned even more widely.

 

“I hope you are not so grouchy when your cock is splitting me open,”  Bilbo said with one raised eyebrow.  “It will not be nearly so much fun.”

 

Bofur huffed in surprise and could not help but laugh.

 

“Who is this creature in my bed?” he asked, only half in jest.  “You are so solid and..and _proper_ in all other aspects of your life and yet here…”

 

“Here is not the place for all that,” Bilbo said, suddenly serious.  “If I am to trust you with my heart then I must be able to trust you with everything about me.  And that includes any and all - “

 

And here he smiled again, and the wickedness was back.

 

“Appetites.”

 

Bofur swallowed hard and moaned a little.  He felt almost out of his depth and he was in no way inexperienced.  But this…

 

“Are all hobbits as you are?” he asked cautiously, a little dazed.  “Only dwarves are a lusty bunch and even we are not so...so - “

 

“Descriptive?” Bilbo asked, smiling and reaching for the oil again.  “Demonstrative?”  He tipped the bottle gently and they both watched as a small bit poured out onto Bilbo’s fingers.  The hobbit looked up from under heavy lids at Bofur, and Bofur felt his breath catch in his throat.

 

_Again,_ he thought, amazed. _He takes my breath away every time I turn around.  Not only is he beautiful he’s…_

 

“To a hobbit, physical pleasure is almost as important as an emotional connection, when it comes to a partner,” Bilbo murmured as he rubbed the oil between his fingers almost absentmindedly.  “And there is nothing more important to a hobbit than comfort and pleasure.”

 

And then, with Bofur watching him very closely, Bilbo reached around behind himself and slid one finger carefully inside.

 

Bofur’s mind went utterly blank.

 

Bilbo inhaled sharply and arched his neck, his eyes drifting closed.  Bofur watched, transfixed, as Bilbo turned to his side and exposed everything to him; the sight of his finger gently circling that tight ring of muscle and pushing its way in and out totally captivating.

 

“Are you watching?” murmured Bilbo.  “Do you like what you see?  Are you imagining your cock in me, pressing in, inch by inch until you...ahhh!”

 

He paused for a moment, shivering, and added another finger.

 

“Until your hips are pressed flush up against me?” he said hoarsely, his body starting to pulse a little with the thrust of his fingers.  He sighed again, long and deep, and then opened his eyes to fix his searing gaze on Bofur, who still could not tear his eyes away from those fingers, those fingers stretching and moving and entering and withdrawing…

 

He swallowed, and the sudden dryness of his throat made it click.

 

“Oh, Bilbo...Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo, what are you doing to me?” he asked distractedly, his hands stroking Bilbo’s thigh as his eyes stayed locked on Bilbo’s fingers, now three of them, pressing and stroking and opening.

 

The hobbit laughed a little and then withdrew his fingers and said, “Touching is ever so much better than merely looking, wouldn’t you say?” as he stretched out, belly down, on the sheets, his legs kicked up and his eyes twinkling.  “I’ve gotten it all started but I can think of nothing I’d like better than to have your fingers in me, readying me for your cock.”

 

He hummed a little and moved about until he was on all fours.

 

“What do you say?” he whispered.  “I think we have waited long enough.”

 

*

His hands shaking a little, Bofur reached over blindly to the little bottle Bilbo had placed on the nightstand, nearly knocking it over; his eyes riveted to the sight of the hobbit on his hands and knees.  Bilbo’s rear was thrust up enticingly high and his face was turned to watch Bofur avidly.

 

He grinned widely as he saw Bofur fumble with the bottle and teased, “I hope you will take more care fucking me than you are with that vial.  You’ve almost dropped it twice now.”

 

“Well, _you_ try handling tiny delicate things while watching the one you love spread wantonly on the bed, wiggling their arse at you and begging for your cock, Smart Mouth,” Bofur grumbled, spreading a little of the oil over his fingers, “and see how efficient _you_ are.  You ask for too much from a dwarf.”

 

Bilbo grinned even wider.

 

“Begging your pardon,” he said cheekily, “but there is nothing “tiny” or “delicate” about my pertinent bits.”

 

Bofur groaned a little as he shuffled closer and placed a firm hand on Bilbo’s hip.

 

“Don’t I know that,” he sighed as he smoothed a finger around Bilbo’s entrance and, very gently, pushed it inside.

 

Bilbo drew in a quick breath and then sighed, pushing back against the finger.

 

“As thick as those fingers of your are, my love,” he murmured, “I am definitely ready for another.”

 

Wordlessly, Bofur pushed another inside, moving them around, stretching them wide.

 

Moaning, Bilbo rocked his hips a little and his hand moved to grasp his cock.

 

Bofur drew it away.

 

“None of that, now,” he said hoarsely, his other hand gripping Bilbo’s hip more tightly as he added a third finger inside.  “You’ll come from me inside you or you’ll not come at all.”

 

Bilbo groaned and dropped his head down between his elbows.

 

Bofur leaned forward to kiss between Bilbo’s shoulder blades, his mouth moving down along his spine.

 

“Oh, you like the sound of that, do you?” he whispered, moving his fingers faster, searching for that tender place inside.

 

Bilbo hummed and groaned again, moving back into Bofur’s fingers more urgently.

 

“Please,” he cried breathlessly.  “Bofur, _oh!_  Want you so much, want you to fill me!”

 

And now it was Bofur who groaned.

 

“Oh, _Bilbo,”_ he murmured as he withdrew his fingers and reached for the oil again, “you don’t know what that does to me, to hear you speak that way.”

 

He slicked himself up quickly and steadied himself behind Bilbo, grasping his hips and bending over press more kisses onto his back.

 

“Yes?” he whispered.  “Are you - may I…?”

 

Bilbo craned his neck around to catch Bofur’s mouth in an urgent, heated kiss.

 

“Yes, Bofur,” he whispered.  “Oh, yes.”

 

Bofur sighed and pulled himself back to kneeling, lining himself up and pressing in slowly, so slowly.

 

They both moaned softly as Bofur sank all the way in, his hips pressed flush against Bilbo’s, his hands moving to caress his back, squeeze his shoulders.

 

“Oh, look at you,” Bofur whispered.  “Just _look_ at you.”

 

He pulled out until only the head of his cock was still inside.

 

“So beautiful,” he murmured as he pushed in again.

 

Bilbo threw his head back and cried out.

 

Bofur pulled back again.

 

“So hot,” he whispered and pushed in again, faster this time.

 

Bilbo gasped and Bofur stilled instantly.

 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked urgently.  “Bilbo?”

 

Bilbo shook his head, groaning.

 

“No!  No...just - so full,” he moaned.  “Bofur, so full!  You - _ahh!_  Don’t...don’t _stop!_  Please!”

 

Bofur closed his eyes and pulled out again, this time all the way.

 

Bilbo whined and pressed back, his hand coming up to Bofur’s hip, urging him on.

 

Bofur slicked himself up again as Bilbo moaned beneath him and urged him to hurry.

 

“Hush, now,” Bofur murmured, sinking in again.  “More slick never hurt anyone.”

 

Bilbo huffed out a laugh.

 

“It’s not the slick, it’s the time without your cock I am protesting,” he managed, moaning again as Bofur sank down to the hilt and stayed there, not moving.

 

Bilbo panted and reached for his weeping cock, grasping it again briefly before Bofur once more knocked his hand away, breathing hard with the effort of not moving.  He gripped Bilbo’s cock himself and stroked it languidly.

 

“I said you would come from my cock or not at all,” he gritted out, stroking harder but staying still inside Bilbo.  

 

Bilbo clenched around Bofur and Bofur groaned, deep and long.

 

His hand moved faster and still he did not move.  

 

Now both of them were panting with the effort.

 

Bilbo pushed back, trying to force Bofur to move, but Bofur would not.  His hand squeezed more firmly, moved faster and Bilbo’s voice rose higher and higher.

 

And then abruptly Bofur stopped and let go, and pulled out entirely.

 

Bilbo cried out and slumped down on the bed, rolling over and arching his back as he moaned loudly and again reached for his leaking erection.  

 

“Not fair!” he said breathlessly, thrusting his hips up and moving his hand along his cock.  “Not fair!  Ohh, Bofur - please!  Want you - _need_ you to fill me, to fuck me!  S’good!  Ahh, so _good…”_

 

Bofur looked down at him, writhing on the bed, his hair sweaty and clinging to his flushed face, his eyes almost black with desire.

 

_I have done this to him,_ he thought wonderingly.   _He longs for me and only me.  He wants me._

 

He felt a surge of lust and love so strong for a moment he could not catch his breath.

 

“Bofur!” Bilbo panted, his hand squeezing harder, his hips stuttering.  “Bofur, please!  Want you in me - please!  So close!”

 

He bent over, covering Bilbo with his body, and snapped his hips.

 

Bilbo howled.

 

“Bofur!” he cried.  “Please!  Oh, please!  Fuck me so hard, _need_ you to!”

 

He left off grasping his own cock to reach for Bofur’s and guided it back inside himself.

 

They both groaned, and Bofur leaned down to gather Bilbo in his arms and pull him up towards him.  He kissed him, deeply and wantonly, as he began to work himself in and out of Bilbo’s heat.

 

“Wanted to see you,” he breathed.  “See that face when you come from my cock, when I fuck you so hard you cannot speak and I fill you with my seed until it runs down your legs…”  He groaned again, more loudly and from his belly, feeling every bit of him coiling tightly in anticipation.

 

Bilbo’s eyes were closed but he gasped and threw his head back and managed, “Ah, Bofur - so good!  Don’t...ahh!  Don’t stop!  Fuck me!”

 

Bofur’s mind snapped and all he could do was feel the hot grip of Bilbo’s arse on his cock as he moved faster, his hands dropping to Bilbo’s hips, pulling them up and toward him to meet every thrust.

 

Bilbo dropped his head back and wailed.

 

The sound of it pushed Bofur to move even faster, pushing Bilbo back onto the bed and angling his hips, lifting Bilbo’s leg to rest on his shoulder as he sought to find that spot inside.

 

Bilbo cried out, his hands flailing and finally grasping the headboard.

 

“Ah, ah, ah, ahhh!” he keened with every thrust.

 

Bofur thrust harder, feeling it surging towards him, feeling his heart about to explode.

 

“That’s it,” he growled.  “That’s it!  Come for me - ohh, Bilbo!  Come on, _come on - “_

 

Bilbo wailed again and then sticky, wet stripes painted Bofur’s chest as he came, gasping and panting and moaning Bofur’s name over and over.

 

“Ahhh, Bilbo,” Bofur shouted out as thrust once more and came as hard as he ever had; peaking and falling in an endless wave of ecstasy that seemed to never end.  He saw white spots flashing before his eyes and a ringing in his ears and he gasped, amazement and delight filling every bit of him.  He shuddered and pressed in even further, seeking to be inside as deeply as he could be, and he gripped Bilbo’s shoulders and pulled him back up into an embrace, careful to stay seated within him, wanting to remain there forever.

 

He did not know how long he drifted away, trembling through the aftershocks.  He came back to himself only when he felt Bilbo shivering in his arms.

 

He held him more tightly and looked down in concern, only to see what he had mistaken for a chilly hobbit was in actuality a laughing hobbit.

 

“Here now,” he said, moving to lay them both down on the bed.  “Has no one ever told you it is bad form to laugh afterwards?”

 

Bilbo reached up to cup his cheek gently, and Bofur took his small hand in his and kissed the palm gently.

 

“I laugh because I don’t know that I have ever been so happy,” Bilbo told him quietly with a smile.  “I feel I now have all I could ever want in this life, and I do not know what to do with myself.”

 

Bofur was so moved he could not speak.  He squeezed Bilbo’s hand, kissing and nuzzling it again.

 

Then Bilbo pulled his hand free and tweaked his nose.

 

“Besides,” he continued with a grin, “I told you I would make you scream and I did.  So there’s that as well.”

 

Bofur’s loud laugh turned to a groan as he finally slipped free of Bilbo, and the hobbit seemed to feel the loss keenly as well, snuggling even closer and stretching up to kiss Bofur’s jaw.

 

“I love you, Bofur,” he said, leaning back to look him in the eye.  “I love you and I want to be with you.”

 

Bofur grinned.

 

“Well, thank Mahal for _that,”_ he joked.  “Otherwise I would make quite a sight clinging to your legs as you tried to walk away.”

 

Bilbo smiled.

 

“What I mean to say, you confusticated dwarf,” he said softly, “is Frodo and I are ready to go with you wherever you choose to be.  Here, Erebor - It matters not.  His home is with me and our home is with you.”

 

He looked down shyly at his hands for a moment, and that flicker of vulnerability after such unbridled wantonness made Bofur’s heart sing.

 

He reached out to brush an unruly curl off Bilbo’s forehead.

 

“And what if I told you I would be happy and honored to live with you in Bag End?” he asked tentatively.  “What say you to that?”

 

Bilbo’s head shot up and he looked astonished.

 

“Bag End?” he repeated disbelievingly.  “But...why would...or rather, you would - “

 

Smiling, Bofur leaned forward to press a chaste kiss on Bilbo’s lips, silencing him.

 

“My time in the Shire is one of my most treasured memories,” he said warmly.  “I would be privileged indeed to share your family’s home with you and Frodo, to be...granted the privilege to help raise another child.”  His eyes welled with tears at that thought and he stopped for a minute to gather himself.  

 

Bilbo nuzzled his cheek softly.

 

“And here I thought you would want to stay among dwarves,” he murmured.  “We’ll turn you into a fat, contented hobbit yet, just you wait.”

 

Bofur laughed quietly as the tears began to roll down his face.

 

“I look forward to every moment of that,” he said.

 

*

 

They lay curled into each other a long while later, still basking in the afterglow of a second bout.  Bilbo ran his hands through Bofur’s hair as Bofur pressed up against him, his head on Bilbo’s chest; listening to his heart beat and reveling in his softness and warmth.

 

They both froze at the knock on the door.

  
“Don’t worry,” came Dís’s voice, and Bofur could almost hear the droll sarcasm dripping from it.  “I’m not coming in.  And I am very pleased you are.. _.enjoying_ yourselves so much.”

 

Bilbo groaned and flushed bright red, which Bofur found heart-breakingly adorable after the hobbit’s gloriously carnal behavior during their lovemaking.

 

“But,” she continued, “if it is at all possible, and I pray to Mahal it is, could you possibly keep it down just a bit?  Only there’s a child here who is convinced you are both being killed down here, slowly and painfully, and it has taken me quite a bit of work to persuade him otherwise.”

 

Bofur started to laugh, covering his mouth with his hand and rolling to bury his face in Bilbo’s shoulder.  The hobbit swatted him on the arm and whispered into his ear, “Well, here is your chance.  Why don’t you just march on over to that door and explain to Dís - what was it?  That you were buggering me into next week and forgot yourself entirely in your ecstasy?  Was that it?”

 

Bofur pushed back and looked Bilbo in the eye.

 

“And will you let me do it again if I go?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

 

“Don’t you dare!” Bilbo hissed, grabbing for Bofur as he rolled further away, by now laughing out loud.

 

_“So.”_ Dís said, a little more loudly, “I humbly ask that you restrain yourselves just a wee bit and I thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

 

Bilbo lunged for Bofur again and Bofur slid back further to avoid him, this time landing with a thunk on the floor.

 

He laughed even harder as Bilbo peered over the edge of the bed at him, his face worried.

 

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

 

Bofur scrambled up and began to head towards the door.

 

He heard a rustle behind him and the next thing he knew he was tackled and knocked over back onto the floor.  He hit with a grunt and reached back to pull Bilbo off him, rolling them over so he was on top, with Bilbo’s hands gripped in his.

 

“Oh, are we suddenly shy?” he whispered, grinning at Bilbo wriggling below him.  “Not so saucy and wanton _now,_ are we?  Come now, let me just explain to her what happened and reassure her we will do our best to be quieter in the future.”  

 

He released Bilbo’s hands and began to crawl towards the door.  

 

Bilbo reached up frantically to grip his leg, pulling as hard as he could the other way.  But Bofur began slowly closing the distance, dragging an ever-more-desperate Bilbo, and the rug they’d landed on, behind him.

 

“Bofur!” Bilbo whispered urgently.  “You cannot...you are _undressed!  I_ am undressed!  You cannot mean to - “

 

Bofur was now almost at the door.

 

“Oh, indeed I do,” he murmured back, turning back to kiss him on the head.  “You are not the only one here who is adventurous in the bedroom.  It’s now my turn.”

 

“Wait!” Bilbo hissed just as Dís cleared her throat and said, “As glad as I am to hear Bilbo is an adventurous lover, I believe I shall take this opportunity to bid you both good night. Again, I am very happy for you.  Considering the hour, that should tell you something.”

 

They both stilled at the sound of her moving away and back up the stairs.  

 

Bilbo looked at Bofur, and Bofur thought he had never seen such a winning sight as the hobbit all red and agitated and clearly put-out.

 

“I am not certain what is more mortifying - Dís hearing...well, what she heard or you determined to prance about naked explaining why we had been quite so loud,” Bilbo sputtered, looking ready to throttle him.  “Would you _really_ have opened that door?  In your current state?”

 

Bofur wished he did not look as endearing as he did in his irritation.  It was making it hard to think.

 

“No,” he admitted with a grin.  “I was just enjoying the way it riled you up.  We dwarves call it “teasing”.  I’m not sure if you’ve - “

 

Bilbo smacked his arm.

 

“Very funny,” he said grumpily.  

 

Bofur leaned in to nuzzle his neck.

 

“If only you were not so enchanting when you are flustered,” Bofur murmured.  “I’m afraid as long as you are you may have to suffer a great deal more teasing.”

 

Sighing as his eyes drifted shut, Bilbo smiled.

 

“If you promise this is what you will do afterwards to make it up to me, you may tease me all you like,” he said softly, and pulled Bofur into him for a sweet kiss.

 

 

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, home.

The following month they returned to the Shire.

 

Dís saw them off with smiles and warm embraces, promising to visit as soon as she was able, and reminding them firmly they were welcome in Ered Luin whenever they saw fit to travel there.

 

Privately, she assured Bofur things would carry on perfectly fine in his absence and to please not worry and _yes,_ she knew he was close enough to lend a hand if it were needed and _no,_ she did not think him staying any longer was necessary and Durin’s forge, Bofur, just _go!_  Go and be with him and stop worrying so much!

 

Bofur wisely decided to take her at her word.

 

They arrived back at Bag End eight days later, and Bofur thought he had never felt so at peace, so very contented, as he did seeing that green door with the dwarven rune carved on it.

 

Bilbo had confessed he’d refused several offers over the years from Hamfast to repaint it.

 

“Sentimental, really,” he’d explained, his ears a bit pink, “but seeing as that mark is what led you all to me I have been loathe to remove it.”

 

His blush had deepened then, but he had not looked away as he admitted, “And, of course, I always wanted you to have a way to come back, should you ever choose to do so.”

 

Bofur had been so moved he could not find the words to express himself, and so he had simply leaned down and kissed him; and sent up a quick prayer of gratitude for being granted not only this new beginning, but enough sense to embrace it.

 

*

 

After such an extended absence there was not much left in the larder, so Bofur offered to entertain Frodo while Bilbo ran to gather them dinner.

 

They played hide and seek in the garden, and Frodo happily showed Bofur his room, where Bofur was touched to see the little farm animals he’d carved all those years ago were sitting in a place of honor above the bed.  As in the rest of Bag End, there were stacks of books everywhere and Bofur could see several drawings Frodo had done - fastened on the walls, spilling out of books, in piles on the floor.  He smiled a little, remembering his nieces and nephews, remembering Kili and Fili; and he was heartened to realize the balm of Frodo’s presence was enough to smooth the sharpest points of his grief.

 

“Are you really staying here?”

 

“Hmmmm…?”  Bofur shook himself out of his reverie and looked down into enormous blue eyes staring back up at him.  “Am I what, now?”

 

Frodo sighed dramatically at having to repeat himself.

 

“Staying here,” he said, slowly and deliberately, as if Bofur did not speak Common very well.  “In Bag End.  With me and with Uncle.  Are you, really?”

 

Bofur smiled at him.

 

“That had been my plan,” he agreed, realization dawning.  “Unless you have an objection to it...?"  He suddenly felt a bit guilty, and quite irresponsible.  "We did not really discuss this with you in Ered Luin, did we?”  He had simply taken for granted that Frodo understood what was happening, but he could now see perhaps he’d been mistaken in his assumption that Bilbo had explained everything to him.

 

Frodo hopped up onto the bed and reached up for the little wooden cow and pig on the shelf.

 

“Uncle told me before we left we were going to visit an old friend of his, one from his adventure,” he explained, looking down at the toys as he cracked them together and bounced them about his bed.  “And that the friend - you, I guess - might come back home with us to stay.”  He looked up and Bofur was again struck by how like Thorin’s his eyes were.  “But he wasn’t sure you would - come back, I mean - and I wasn’t to worry about it either way.  And then we found you and now you’ve come back with us and so I was wondering - “ he looked down again and resumed bouncing the animals rather absently - “I was wondering if you are going to stay.”

 

Bofur cleared his throat in an effort to avert his tears.

 

“Would it be all right with you if I stayed?” he managed.

 

Frodo nodded.

 

“I like you,” he said, “And I would very much like you to stay.  And so would Uncle, I can tell.”

 

Bofur cleared his throat again, but this time a few tears escaped to run down his cheeks.  He wiped his face with his sleeve and smiled warmly at Frodo.

 

“Aye,” he managed.  “I would quite love to stay, if that is all right with you.  And I’m sorry you were not asked properly before now.”

 

“S’all right,” Frodo demurred, blushing a little.  “It’s not really my home.  And I’m just little so it doesn’t really matter what I think.”

 

Frowning, Bofur sat down on the bed next to him, watching the lad’s hands twist about with the little animals.  

 

“Well,” he began carefully, “I don’t believe that and I will tell you true - your Uncle doesn’t believe that either.  What you think matters just as much as what we think, and this is your home as much as it is your Uncle’s.  I’d venture to say it’s more your home than mine, wouldn’t you?”

 

Frodo’s head snapped up and he looked shocked.

 

“But I’m just little!” he repeated, clearly scandalized.

 

Bofur laughed.

 

“Well, you’re a hobbit,” he teased gently.  “How much bigger do you fancy you’ll be getting?”

 

Blushing again, Frodo shook his head.

 

“You know what I mean,” he chastised.  “I’m just - I’m a fauntling!  And you’re _grown!”_

 

Bofur nodded.  “Aye, I’m grown, but you’ve lived here for over three years with your Uncle, and you’re a hobbit.  If I look around the Shire, it’s hobbits I’m seeing, not dwarves.”

 

Frodo was unconvinced.

 

“Maybe,” he allowed, “but - “

 

Bofur held up his hand.

 

“No maybe about it,” he said firmly.  “And your name is Baggins!  You’re a Baggins of Bag End!  That means you belong here, sure as grass is green and the sun rises in the East.  No, no - if anyone doesn’t belong it’s me.”  He sighed and looked away.  “I’m a dwarf, I’ve not lived in the Shire as long as you and my name is definitely not Baggins.”  He shook his head sadly.  “It’s me who does not belong here.”

 

Frodo frowned skeptically.

 

“But Uncle wants you to be here,” he said.  “I know that he does.  That’s why we went to the mountains to find you.  He wanted to be with you.”

 

Bofur reached his arm around the lad’s tiny shoulders and pulled him into his side.

 

“Frodo, lad,” he said very softly, “he wants _you_ to be here every bit as much as you say he wants _me_ to be here.  I know how many different relatives you could have lived with.  Bilbo loved you so much and worked so hard to convince them all to let you share his home with him because you mean everything to him, you must know that.”

 

He squeezed him tighter and was rewarded by the feel of Frodo’s head resting against his shoulder.

 

“He would never want you to think your opinion does not matter because you are too young or because you were not born in this home," he said softly.  "What is his is yours, and from now on what is mine is yours too.”

 

Frodo pulled away and looked up at him.

 

“Do you mean that?” he asked, his lip quivering every so slightly.

 

Bofur leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

 

“Every word,” he assured him.  “This is our home, all three of us, and we are all family.”

 

*

 

That night they enjoyed the best dinner Bofur could ever remember having, and Frodo made the two adults misty-eyed when he raised his cup of milk and offered a toast to his "new Bag End family.”

 

*

 

After Bilbo had fallen asleep Bofur left their bed as quietly as he could, slipping on his vest as he let himself outside and into the garden.

 

The night was cool for summer, and perfectly clear.  Making his way carefully through the garden Bofur hesitated at the little bench before moving past it to settle underneath a large birch tree.

 

He lit his pipe and sat back against the tree, smoking and looking up at the night sky.  The stars seemed incredibly bright and closer than he could ever remember them being.  It reminded him of nights back in Ered Luin, so many years ago, when he and Thorin would sit outside some nights, curled into each other; sometimes talking and laughing but more often just enjoying the quiet and the company of the other.

 

Once in a while Dís would agree to let the boys stay up late and they would join them there, on the slopes of the mountain, loud and boisterous and so terribly excited to be allowed up past their bedtime.  Bofur would spin them some tale or other and they would listen absolutely mesmerized...and he would watch Thorin across the small fire they would have on such evenings, and marvel at how beautiful he was, and how much he loved him.

 

And then Thorin would meet his eyes, and Bofur’s heart would stop and he would always stumble in his story, just for a moment, as he saw that love reflected back to him tenfold.

 

And the boys would roll their eyes and nudge each other and Thorin would grin and that grin never failed to make Bofur’s heart hammer…

 

Such a frequent, well-worn memory and for the very first time since their deaths it did not paralyze him with grief, to think on such blissful times.  The memory made him...almost happy, and grateful - very, very grateful.

 

He had always known how lucky he was to be blessed with not only the loving family he’d been born into, but the ones he’d found and chosen as well.  Loving Bilbo and Frodo and knowing how much they loved him back made his love for Thorin and Fíli and Kíli feel more powerful, steadier - the base on which the whole of his life had been built.  

 

In a different life he would have been privileged and so satisfied to spend the rest of his days with Thorin, whether in Ered Luin or Erebor, loving and taking care of each other; and to watch his boys grow older and begin families of their own...

 

Well.

 

He absently wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

 

_That_ was a pain and a loss that would never leave entirely but he had worked so hard to make his peace with their fates, and their part in the deciding of it.  

 

It would always break his heart, that they had not lived to be loved by the ones they’d chosen; had not lived to become the Golden King of Erebor and whomever Kíli would have grown to be.  

 

Bofur couldn’t help but smile as he thought of his dark-haired sweet one, and all the hair-pulling he would have caused on his way to his destiny.  

 

Oh, but he had loved them so.

 

He thought on Tauriel, and hoped she had made her peace as well.

 

He thought on Nori, and wished him every blessing with Dwalin.

 

And then he thought on Thorin.

 

Thorin was so difficult to let go of, and yet he knew he had to, if he were to ever really love Bilbo the way Bilbo deserved.  There was no room for a ghost.

 

Bofur sighed, long and deep.

 

He had made great strides in the decade since the quest, but to truly lay Thorin to rest - it was wretchedly difficult.  The pain and loss had become so woven into who he was and how he identified himself that it was frightening to imagine a life without it.

 

He had thought himself ready years ago, when he first arrived at Bag End.

 

He had hoped he was ready when he fell in love with Bilbo.

 

And now, it had all come ‘round again.  He had never let it go, and it was lying in wait for him, ready for him to decide who he was and who he wanted to be.

 

Thorin had been everything to him for so long - his friend, his lover, his confidante, his passion.  And to have spent so much of their last months together in such turmoil and pain - it tormented him, even now.

 

But Thorin had died in his right mind, and that was a comfort.  They had died loving each other, and that was more than a comfort - it was a gift, one that Bofur had treasured and guarded jealously for years now.   _His_ Thorin had returned and _his_ Thorin loved him.

 

He wondered if that was what was needed - a release of the talismanic hold that love had on his heart.  Perhaps it was enough to know it was there, without him having to pull it out all the time, wrapping it around himself the way he would a well-loved cloak.

 

Perhaps it was time to trust, and to let go.

 

“Had you lived, I would have followed you anywhere,” he whispered.  “Anywhere at all.  And I will always love you.  But it’s time.  After so many years, I think it is finally time.”

 

He sighed again and smiled and then...it was done.

 

He sat under the stars a while longer, turning his face into the breeze, and then he stood up, brushed his trousers off, and went back inside to curl up with his hobbit.

 

*

 

Bilbo woke in the night to Bofur stroking his hair as he looked down at him and smiled.

 

“Why do you stare at me so?” he murmured sleepily, his hand reaching up to tug on a braid.

 

Bofur grinned at him.

 

“Does it bother you?” he asked, nuzzling the hobbit’s delicately pointed ear.

 

Bilbo smiled and tugged the braid more firmly.

 

“Come closer and ask that again,” he whispered.

 

_fin_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is very hard to post this last chapter, as I have so enjoyed working on this! It has taken up much of my free time for months, this series, and I already feel the loss...
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has read, left kudos and commented throughout this! I know rare pairings are not for everyone and so I am incredibly grateful to you all for choosing to read this and for being so supportive. It has meant the world to me.


End file.
